


Blue Ceiling

by Fraink5



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Epic of Gilgamesh AU, Little Mermaid AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22851592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fraink5/pseuds/Fraink5
Summary: Expecting to become king of the merpeople as son of Tiamat, Kingu is suddenly forced to give up his tail and to go the surface to restore humanity's disregarded respect for the Goddess of the Sea. However, he severely underestimates the Uruks' willpower, especially that of their stubborn king, Gilgamesh.
Relationships: Gilgamesh | Caster/Kingu | Lancer
Comments: 38
Kudos: 70





	1. Tablet I

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a fusion of FGO Babylonia, The Little Mermaid, and The Epic of Gilgamesh--featuring Gilgamesh as himself! It was quite fun to see how the stories overlap, and I hope you also enjoy it!
> 
> Special thanks to @Leio13 for editing this~!
> 
> Without further ado, please enjoy!

Small bubbles floated past Kingu’s vision towards the distant, blue ceiling. He didn’t bother to follow them once they left his vision.  _ How foolish, _ he scoffed.  _ What’s so good up there? _ Before they would disappear beyond the water’s surface, they would undoubtedly disappear from Kingu’s memory. So insignificant, they weren’t worth even his pity. Of course, Kingu had so much unused pity that he could afford to give them a brief farewell as they left his world.

Kingu hadn’t the slightest idea what would happen to the bubbles when they reached the top. Would they drift along the waves like the boats he had heard about? Would they grow in size, filled with the outside air? Regardless, like all things that went up, they would never come back down.

However, Kingu’s curiosity quickly returned to the expanse of blue which stretched limitlessly in almost every direction. The unreachable haze was the nebula of his imagination, and often he would sit at the outskirts of his city and think about dissolving into the current and leaving behind his boring, everyday life. 

Unlike the surrounding ocean, the city Atargata was completely stagnant. The population had hardly changed since its foundation. Because merpeople could not die of natural causes, most of the civilization’s founders still lived in the city and occupied the same civil positions they had from the beginning. Without fear of extinction, reproduction was completely unnecessary. 

For that reason, the news of the king’s passing by a human hunting incident came as a huge surprise, and the news that Kingu would replace him, an even bigger one. The population did not hesitate to make their discomfort known to Kingu, constantly arguing over who would “actually” become the sovereign. Kingu laughed at this useless activity, for none of those contentious fossils could ever be king. Kingu, on the other hand, was born to be king. He had been created by the mother goddess Tiamat to freshen the stale waters and guide them away from their old-fashioned ways. 

Kingu threw one more glance at his unreachable, endless horizon, sighed, and trudged into the city.

* * *

Atargata was a grid of searock. Due to the currents, the buildings lay flat at only one story. Instead the city slowly stretched across the sandy floor. Despite its boring foundation, the city was bustling with color and life; every wall was decorated with a coral mosaic, which had grown into an entirely separate community of fish. Far from an invasion, the mercommunity had accepted their right to live there and simply left them be. Kingu admired the way they swam peacefully in their large communities—no fighting, no competition. They were undoubtedly the best inhabitants of the city.

Kingu was thoughtlessly watching the school which passed through the market, blissfully aware of the carnage of fish for sale, when his imagination was interrupted.

“Oh, if it isn't Kingu. How strange seeing you here.” The snooty voice belonged to Atargata’s no. 1 diva, Ishtar. Her lips curled, excited by the storm of insults that brewed between them. “Shouldn't your mommy being doing the groceries?”

“She isn't my ‘mommy,’ and I'm not a kid. In fact—”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. You're going to be king. You know, a king shouldn't throw a temper tantrum because of a little teasing.” With her hand waiting impatiently on her ruby-scaled hip, Ishtar’s eyes danced; Kingu’s resentment fueled them like oxygen to a flame.

Kingu wanted to smother them. He said nothing.

“Huh? Are you going to ignore me?” Ishtar folded her arms. “I’m giving you good advice, you know. That was like elementary school teasing. If you can’t even take that…”

“Aren’t you too old for child’s play?” Kingu returned his disappointment with his gaze.

“Excuse me! I am not  _ that _ old.”

“And I’m not a child.” Kingu turned away, hoping to return to his business with the fish.

“Jeez… it's all because of that witch…” A muttered comment, only half-intended for Kingu to hear.

“She's not a witch. She was a mermaid too.”

“She's a  _ traitor _ , flirting with humans.”

_ That's not— _ Kingu didn't know enough to say it wasn't true. But Gorgon, the supposed sea monster, hated humans. She would have never flirted with them, Kingu was certain.

Ishtar sighed. “You may be a brat, but you're still a merman. You should be on our side, not that monster's.”

“It's because you’re irresponsible..” Kingu had been holding that comment back longer than he had even realized. “All of you are too self-centered. Only Gorgon tried to take care of me.”

“Well.” Ishtar's face scrunched with displeasure. “If you're insistent on being on her side in spite of everything, then I assume you're prepared to take responsibility for her, ‘future king?’ What do you plan to do about the human issue?”

Kingu couldn't care less about the humans. As long as they remained on land, they were outside of his little world. Completely irrelevant. “What issue?” he asked, feigning the vaguest interest.

“ _ ‘What issue?’ _ Ugh! Does anything matter to you outside of your moody internal monologue?! It's the lack of respect! The humans have forgotten their origins and parading around like they're kings of the world!”

“Does it matter? The opinions of something so insignificant such as humanity shouldn't mean anything to our civilization. Let them think what they want. They are just fools.”

“Hah, so you're not on the side of humans either.” Ishtar looked surprisingly delighted. “You really are naive. If you want to be treated seriously, you should find out where you want to be.”

* * *

“You can just ignore her,” Gorgon spat, baring her fangs at an enemy who wasn't there. “Her head's just inflated because of her little cult. Even her fellow council members know she's just an idiot. So, you don't need to worry about her becoming king.”

“Of course I don't.” Kingu hastily dismissed the idea, which had never once crossed his mind. “The only one who will become king is me. It's my destiny.”

“Yes, that too.” Gorgon's sharp, purple eyes stared King up and down then drifted in the direction of the city. She grimaced. “Say, Kingu, why do want to be the king of  _ those _ people, anyway?”

That should have been such a simple question—it was his duty to lead the people—yet it brought him to a halt. Indeed, he had no desire to rule those people; he hated them. But he had never questioned his own resolve to rule over them, and he wouldn't start then.

“I know what you're thinking, Gorgon. They're stupid and selfish, cruel and jealous. But that's why they need someone like me. I will mercilessly teach them how to behave.”

“That's quite a forgiving offer for such a despicable bunch,” Gorgon muttered, bloodlust seeping from every scale which covered her body.

That bloodlust was Gorgon's greatest flaw, Kingu thought. It'd really do her some good to let some of it go, or at least conceal it better. The rumors about Gorgon which had been circling around town since the previous king's death were not completely implausible, he had to admit. For his part, Kingu was certain that his suffering would be repaid in due time without needless acts of violence. Tiamat was on his side after all.

“Right?” He grinned. “They should try to be more like me!”

* * *

When Kingu next returned to the city, he had already forgotten about Ishtar and any other annoying face which plagued his usual visits. He ignored even the schools of fish as he swam through them, for his eyes were set on only one thing: the grand temple at the center of Atargata. The temple of Tiamat stood taller and more colorful than anywhere else, and because no person dared enter it, it was a bustling haven for fish. This time, however, Kingu had an invitation, so it could hardly be called intruding.

Inside, the corridors of the temple echoed with a doleful song. Although unfamiliar, the voice filled Kingu with an unplaceable nostalgia and an unfathomable sorrow. Without knowing the cause of her grieving, Kingu vowed to resolve it. 

The still figure of Tiamat was the eye of the storm of fish which, driven by her music, raced around the hall. Yet she was blind to her surroundings. Her song had wrapped her protectively, sheltering her from the saddening world outside. 

“Mother, I’ve come as you requested,” Kingu barely whispered, awed by the scene before him. 

“It is a truly grievous situation.” Tiamat’s eyes stared into a world beyond Kingu’s small one. He could see nothing in their nebulous purple. But her wordless song he clearly understood; it spoke directly to his heart. It ached with loneliness as it pleaded. Who could allow such sorrow? Kingu scorned the apathy of people and fish alike. But Kingu was different from those ungrateful people; he would do his utmost to heal her grieving heart.

“What can I do to help? Please tell me.”

Kingu’s heart stopped with Tiamat’s melody. She spoke with a soft voice. “The humans have forgotten me, their mother. They continue without thinking of the sea, of their roots.”

_ ...The humans? _ As Tiamat’s singing vacated his mind, confusion seeped in.  _ Of course, the humans are the most ungrateful of them all—above all, completely unaware of their insignificance. _ If Kingu’s enemy was humans, it would undoubtedly be an easy task. 

“How arrogant—those pathetic humans. They will no doubt rue their pride.”

“You must go up there and amend their ways, teach them reverence for their mother. Their young king, Gilgamesh, is especially insolent; you must correct him.”

The words repeated ad infinitum in Kingu’s head, blurring into meaningless but maddening sounds. He exhaled to clear all the clutter. “How should I do that?” The question floated in his vicinity, afraid to get an answer from Tiamat.

“You must join them. Become human. They won’t listen to anyone else.” 

The words knocked Kingu like a strong current, and he struggled to regain himself. He could not imagine being a human. To become human was to abandon his home, his aspirations, his pride. Kingu was a merman; to discard that was to discard his identity altogether. The possibility of becoming human had never crossed Kingu’s mind, yet suddenly, it was his reality. Even if he still had his emerald tail, Tiamat’s words had stripped him of his mermanhood on the spot. 

“Once you’re human, you must never mention your origins to anyone. You must live completely as a human.”

It was so lonely. He had been alone for most of his life, but never had he felt true loneliness, the kind that caused Tiamat to sing. It filled his heart with solid lead. “And when I’ve finished my mission…?” He choked out.

“I have arranged your meeting with the human king. There will be a storm on the waves; you must meet him then.” Tiamat’s song started again with the swirl of fish, signalling the end of their conversation.

As Kingu left the temple, the sorrowful melody chased after his tail.

* * *

Kingu held his breath before breaking through the water’s surface. The outside world was just gray. Gloomy, voluminous gases hung in the air as far as he could see, and water poured from the sky. Even the ocean was, from the top, a shifting surface of darkness, wave after wave trying to topple Kingu and throw him back underneath. He had never imagined water could be this unpleasant.

But the air was worse. Each breath was an inhalation of poison, scorching his throat. Yet, he kept inhaling—faster and faster. His lungs heaved, quickly moving the toxin in and out. But something wasn’t enough. Faster and faster. His heart raced to keep up. 

“King Gilgamesh!” The sound of a voice stopped Kingu’s breathing entirely. It came from a medium-sized vessel which swayed drunkenly atop the angry seas. Standing proudly at one of the curved ends was the only color in the depressing scene: a golden human. His short hair shone as golden as his armor. That man could only be the king.

The lustrous man disappeared under the waves along with his vessel. 

_ Oh _ . Kingu had to rescue him. As a mere human, the golden man could not breath underwater and would quickly die.  _ How pathetic. Such weak lungs. _ It was probably more convenient to just let the human die. He was the source of their problems, after all. If the humans lost their insolent leader, maybe they would relearn their respect. What value did this human have which was worth saving?

Despite himself, Kingu dived back below the surface of the waves and sped after the human king. But the sinking human had already lost consciousness by the time Kingu had caught up to him. Hoping he was still alive somehow, Kingu grabbed him and raced to the surface. No response. Kingu needed to find land somehow. In the distance, he made out a faint moving light. Maybe it was the sun. In any case, it meant calmer water, so he pulled the body towards it. 

As the storm began clearing, Kingu realized the light was actually from a peculiar tower on the beach. But his surprise was drowned out by his relief at finding land. He threw the human on the ground and waited for him to wake. 

Maybe it was better if the human didn’t wake up. He was the greatest obstacle to Kingu’s objective. Instilling fear in the other humans would be easier if this one wasn’t around. And, at least, Kingu could say that he tried to save him. But then Kingu’s rescue attempt would have been in vain... 

In any case, it was out of Kingu’s hands. He decided to study the surrounding area to take his mind off the stress of waiting. So this was the land where he was forced to live. The sand, or so he figured, was a grainy substance the color of the human’s hair that stuck grossly to his wet skin. Beyond the beach, far in the distance, there seemed to be a stone wall. 

Before he could get a better look, Kingu’s attention was grabbed by the human next to him, who had begun to cough.  _ Seriously? You’re on land now. If you humans can’t even breathe on land, what good are you? _ Kingu scoffed at the human as water sputtered from his lips. But if there was water still inside the human, then, Kingu realized, it was up to him to draw it out somehow. Reluctantly, he leaned in for a closer inspection. He had no idea how to deal with humans—much less a drowning person.. If he turned him over, would the water come out?

During his increasingly panicked contemplation, Kingu was startled by two ruby-colored eyes which stared at him. His heart skipped a beat upon realizing he had never been so close to a human before. He couldn’t move; the bright eyes, which had locked their gaze after a final coughing fit, commanded him to be still.

“Who…” The human began. His eyes drifted down from Kingu’s face. “...Are you?”

Kingu felt he had no choice but to follow that stare. There. Long, fleshy, and undeniably human. _Legs?_ _Since when?_ Kingu’s mind went white. 

When Kingu came to his senses, the man, who had slithered out from underneath him, was scowling. Nevertheless, he extended a hand in Kingu’s direction. 

Kingu could only stare blankly at the strangely amical gesture before he was ripped from the ground and placed on his feet. 

It hurt. Kingu’s new feet were brittle; they could break just from the weight of his own body. He immediately toppled over. The human grabbed him with another groan and started to drag him towards the wall. Kingu, unsure of what to do with his new legs, tried to imitate his helper, but it was too painful. One foot in front of the other. It hurt,  _ it hurt,  _ **_it hurt._ **

Water droplets began welling up in the corners of Kingu’s eyes. Was this what it meant to cry? The tears which rolled down Kingu’s cheeks and met his lips were warm and salty. It was a miserable taste.

* * *

The walk through the city was lost on Kingu, whose consciousness was largely suppressed by the pain. But somehow he and the man he had rescued ended up in front of a decently sized brick building. It was someone’s home, Kingu guessed.

“Shamhat!” The blonde man barked.

After a minute or two of shuffling sounds, a human woman appeared at the doorway. “I’m sorry for the indecency, your majesty. I was with a customer.”

Kingu found nothing indecent about the woman. Wearing a plain, white dress, she had a simple but radiant beauty. Her brown hair shimmered green in the reappearing sunlight.

“Not anymore,” the man quickly dismissed. “I’m leaving this man to you.”

The woman, Shamhat presumably, eyed Kingu up and down then smiled coyly at him before turning back to the human king. “Yes, your majesty.”

“Also, fetch me a fresh pair of clothing before I go.”

“Of course.” Shamhat’s inspection had completely moved to the man’s sopping garments. “... What happened?”

“I’ll explain later. Just hurry up. Take him with you.” 

Having no control in the manner, Kingu was thrown harshly at Shamhat, who caught him surprisingly gently and eased him into the home and onto a bed. She quickly hurried off after that, giving Kingu a few minutes to reflect on what happened. 

He had rescued the human king, Gil… Gil-something and was taken to a mysterious woman’s home. He couldn’t make much sense of anything beyond that. 

He had legs now. Although the bed was a significant relief compared to standing, just the thought of his new legs sent him a painful shock. He never wanted to walk again. How could the humans do it every day, all day? They were undeterred to the point of foolishness. 

Shamhat returned and sat near the head of the bed. “Here you go.” Taking a cloth, she wiped Kingu’s cheeks. Apparently, tears still lingered.  _ How embarrassing. _ To hide or at least avoid looking at Shamhat, Kingu turned his cheek. This action only made Shamhat giggle, so Kingu gave up and turned to face her. With a small smile, Shamhat seemed to be more than a human. Her unparallelled kindness and beauty could not be attributed to the selfish and arrogant humans.

“How are you feeling?” Shamhat asked. “Do you have a name?”

Shamhat’s gentleness had caused Kingu to drop his guard and he blurted out his name.

“So you  _ can _ talk!”

Kingu nodded, aware of the irony, but he was too busy planning his next responses to the questions which would inevitably follow. He couldn’t slip up again.

“I’m relieved to know that. So then, Kingu, where are you from?”

“I don’t remember…” Kingu’s voice faded away with feigned shame. 

“You don’t remember?” Shamhat questioned him. “That’s troubling… What  _ do  _ you remember?”

“When I came to, I could only remember my name, Kingu.”

“Oh my!” Shamhat pursed her lips but quickly went back to smiling. “Well, that’s a good place to start!” Then she added, “Are you hungry? What foods do you like?” 

The question troubled Kingu, who hadn’t the slightest knowledge of the human diet. As he racked his brain, Shamhat chimed in again, “How about bread?” With a nod from Kingu (what did he know about bread?), Shamhat disappeared into a different room.

“Anyway.” Shamhat quickly returned with the strange food, apparently called bread. “I heard you can't walk; is this true?”

“Yes.” Kingu's voice was tinged with bitterness leftover from his miserable experience.

Shamhat blinked as though surprised Kingu confirmed her beliefs. “Then, how did you rescue King Gilgamesh?”

Even Kingu couldn't adequately explain that one. “I don't know. By chance?”

Shamhat inspected him. “Well, I'm very grateful, as is all of Uruk, I'm sure.”

“What kind of person is uh Gilguhh…”

“King Gilgamesh? He is an awe-inspiring person. Uruk's greatest king. He is responsible for the city's grandeur, its prosperity, and its safety. We owe our calm and happy everyday lives to him. And to you. If you had not saved him earlier, we would have been in trouble. So thank you. Thank you from every citizen of Uruk."

Kingu was ashamed to admit he understood her reasoning. When Atargata's previous king died unexpectedly, the city was taken over by chaos. They were disturbingly similar to humans in that regard. Kingu scoffed at himself. Why was he saving the human kingdom? He had to hurry back home and fix things in his own city.


	2. Tablet II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Babylonia episode today, but there is still fanfiction to cope!

For the next few days, Kingu had learned many things while staying at Shamhat’s place, the most notable being how to walk properly. He could have never imagined that using legs was such a precise process. “Lift your feet,” she would say, but when Kingu tried that, she would tell him to stop “stomping.” Nevertheless, although his gait was still awkward, he could at least manage to get around on his feet. One thing that didn’t change was that it was still painful. Each step was just as excruciating (if not more so) than the last, but he grew accustomed to it. What a pitiful way to live. If this was the human experience, it was truly bleak.

Several times, the human king, Gil, had come over to see Shamhat at strange hours, but he had been too lazy or ungrateful to see Kingu, so he remained a mystery. However, on this occasion, that was slated to change. Kingu had been invited with Shamhat to the palace for a banquet.

The palace was a sturdy brick building much like Shamhat’s home, but much loftier. Beyond its windowless outer face was a large complex of superfluous rooms and courtyards. The grand table was stacked with fruits and vegetables, many of which Kingu had never seen in his life, tender yet indistinguishable meats, and of course, the one thing he was certain of: beer, the intoxicating beverage that Kingu could not handle. The bountiful scene was made complete by a jovial troupe of musicians. So this was the splendor of a king! Such a lavish feast was enviable by even the standards of merpeople. No wonder the pitiable humans revered the king like a god.

The opulent display could only be outdone by the king himself. Donning a fine, golden robe, his exuded brilliance demanded attention. His red eyes scrutinized every detail of the room, including Kingu, as though he was one of the decorations. Kingu remained undaunted, however. After all, as ostentatious as he was, the king was still a mere human.

“Welcome,” the king spoke with a demanding voice. “You’ve been given a great honor to feast here. Do not hold back and make waste of it.”

Kingu did want to enjoy the food, but he had no interest in responding to the egotistical remarks. 

“Your majesty,” an unfamiliar veiled woman, who apparently had entered with the king, chimed in. “Is everything to your liking?” Upon receiving a nod of approval, she turned to leave. “I’m glad.”

“Where are you going, Siduri?” the king barked. “Did I dismiss you?”

The woman called Siduri smiled, seemingly taking the king’s harsh words as a good thing. “If this is what you wish, your majesty.” Then, greeting the two visitors, she sat down in the remaining seat.

However, Siduri did not rest long, as she quickly began introductions. “Your majesty, this is Kingu, who you met a while ago.”

What was the proper human thing to say? Kingu didn’t want to stand out too much, so he whipped up some flattery. Certainly, it would please the vain king. “It’s a great honor to make your acquaintance… Gil…” Of all times to forget his name! 

“What did you call me, mongrel?” The king’s eyes sharpened, like blades ready for murder. “That’s ‘King Gilgamesh’ for you.”

“And I am Kingu, not ‘mongrel.’”

“You are nothing in the eyes of a great king.” Gilgamesh continued to glare at Kingu. “Where did you come from, acting so brazenly?”

Weighed down by anger and humiliation, Kingu could not respond. But quickly enough, Shamhat took over. “He doesn’t remember. He has amnesia.”

“Is that right?” Gilgamesh’s smirk broke into a loud laugh. “What good is your memory then? A name is worthless without something of value to represent.”

Silence befell the table as Gilgamesh’s smug laugh died out. Shamhat and Siduri occasionally chatted across the table, but it was irrelevant to Kingu. In his mind existed only himself, his wounded pride, and the offender, Gilgamesh.

Finally, Shamhat boldly addressed Gilgamesh. "So, about my business…"

"This again?" Gilgamesh snapped. "Haven't I been treating you well enough?"

Shamhat stared at the table quietly, her face red, before looking Gilgamesh directly in his eyes. "I can’t take care of… your request and my other customers at the same time, but it’s been long enough, and I need to attend to other customers."

"You don't  _ need _ to do anything," Gilgamesh snarled as though rearing for an attack.

Although Kingu tried to piece together the conversation, there was a huge hole in his knowledge. Nevertheless, he couldn't tolerate Gilgamesh treating Shamhat so terribly. "She doesn't have to listen to you either!"

All six eyes moved to stare at Kingu, who had basically been invisible before. Siduri's eyes moved shakily between Kingu and Gilgamesh; Shamhat's eyes fixated once again on the table, a shadow falling over them; only Gilgamesh's eyes, red as spilled blood, continued to stab Kingu with their gaze.

" _ What _ did you say, mongrel?" Gilgamesh rose slowly, inviting Kingu to join him. "Those are some cheeky words to use before the king."

"By what authority? You're nothing but an arrogant man ruled by unchecked self-importance." Kingu stood up, the pain in his feet buried by his rage.

"And what are you exactly? Don't tell me a divine prophet sent for Uruk's salvation. I'm not in the mood for such funny stories." He grabbed two swords and tossed one at Kingu. 

“King Gilgamesh, stop! Please!” Siduri cried out shakily. “He doesn’t stand a chance; he just learned to walk!”

Gilgamesh did not even look at Siduri, continuing to stare at Kingu. “Then, I will teach him where he stands.”

Taking the cue, Kingu lunged at Gilgamesh. He could not miss this opportunity. If the arrogant king were to disappear, so would all of Kingu’s problems—all of Tiamat’s problems. Kingu had plenty of experience hunting with spears in his home country, and this wasn’t so different from that, so he couldn’t lose. A sudden attack to catch the target off-guard, then—

Gilgamesh swiped Kingu’s stab away. He stared impatiently.

Kingu froze.  _ How did he—? _

Pain crept from Kingu’s heels. But it was white noise under his indignation. 

Finally, he shifted his weight— _ sharp pain _ —and readied his sword for another thrust. He drove the point forward.

Gilgamesh stepped aside and slashed Kingu’s leg. 

The world rocked.

Kingu swung his sword wildly. Gilgamesh swiped at the other leg. He mindlessly crisscrossed Kingu’s legs, slash after slash.

Gilgamesh’s image blurred. Kingu lunged at the vaguely human cloud in between desperate swings. As long as he could stand, he could still win. He staggered unphased through the growing puddles of his own blood.

The world flickered on and off. The periodic darkness meant nothing to Kingu if he could just—on and off. If only he could—off.

Kingu crashed.

“How entertaining. Your futile determination is an endless source of entertainment. That’s the only reason you’re still alive right now.

“Be grateful, mongrel. It is  _ I  _ who has saved  _ your  _ life.”


	3. Tablet III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the other chapter was for people who want to watch Kingu get destroyed, this one is for the folks who are emotional about his self-sacrifice in today's Babylonia episode and want to see good things happen for him. I certainly do.

Kingu woke up to an unfamiliar ceiling. There was neither the privacy of Gorgon’s home nor the warmth of Shamhat’s. Once again, Kingu was without a home. The room was nearly empty save an overbearing silence.

Kingu’s legs cried out in pain as they did on the first day. They had brought him nothing but suffering. He wanted to cut them off. 

Even then, he could not be a merman again. He was stuck in a useless human body, but even the humans wouldn’t accept him. He had always been an outsider. Maybe he would live as a monster like Gorgon. Gorgon was strange company, but he found himself missing her in his isolation. They had been outcasts together, but now they were just alone.

At least, Kingu thought staring at the apathetic ceiling, he had Tiamat. He hazily recalled her sorrowful song; was she lonely like him? Certainly, she understood him better than anyone else, and that’s why she chose him. Tiamat trusted him with this mission, so he would carry it out for her. Whether he was a merman, a human, or neither, he was Tiamat’s son. That knowledge warmed his cold loneliness.

Kingu watched the shadow cast by the window as it moved across the floor until his meditation was interrupted by footsteps. A woman’s voice appeared in the doorway, “Oh good! He’s awake.”

Two people entered the room: the distraught brunette woman from the other day and Gilgamesh. Kingu closed his eyes and turned away; he had no business with Gilgamesh, but curiosity forced him to peak and see what they were up to.

The intruders had approached Kingu’s bed, and then the woman elbowed the king, an action certainly warranting the death penalty.

But Gilgamesh just grumbled to himself then spoke aloud, “Siduri requested that I apologize for yesterday.” The king seemed to struggle between his lack of desire to apologize and the appearance of his authority. 

“ _ Ahem _ .” Siduri forced a cough. 

“Yesterday, I invited you to my home, but you were met with hostility instead of hospitality. That was unacceptable.” Gilgamesh’s curt “apology” was accompanied by rolled eyes.

Siduri sighed then turned her attention to Kingu. “I hope you are feeling better today.”

“No,” Kingu mumbled, not in the mood for playing at courtesy.

Gilgamesh opened his mouth, but he was preemptively silenced by a sharp glare from Siduri.

“We’re truly, deeply sorry for what happened yesterday,” Siduri continued, bowing her head. “And, we also are here to inform you that you’ll be living here from now on.”

“Huh?” Kingu snapped out of his fake sleep.

“We’re sorry it’s not much,” Siduri bowed her head again, “but Shamhat is busy with her work, and so it would be more convenient for you to live here. We hope you understand.”

Shamhat’s job… Shamhat had been so generous with Kingu; it never occurred to him that he was inconveniencing her. Shame floated up to his cheeks.

“If there’s anything you need, King Gilgamesh would be more than willing to provide. It’s the least he could do after what happened yesterday.”

If the glower on Gilgamesh’s face was any indicator, he was not ‘more than willing,’ but Siduri seemed to have some influence over him, so maybe it wasn’t out of the question. 

“Let’s see…” Kingu shot Gilgamesh a smug look while running through the possibilities. He wanted to ask for something outrageous.

“Oh yes, one last thing,” Siduri interrupted. “To make up for yesterday, King Gilgamesh has offered to show you around Uruk, since you are still new here.”

Somehow Siduri’s offer was more outrageous than anything Kingu had come up with himself, yet he definitely wasn’t interested. Unfortunately, it did not seem like declining was an option. 

“We will be back in a few days when you are feeling better.” Siduri spared Kingu, if only temporarily.

“Don’t make me wait too long, mongrel.” Gilgamesh muttered and left.

“Please rest well!” Siduri called before chasing Gilgamesh with a look of embarrassment.

* * *

After a few days, Kingu was capable of walking around his barren home although not without pain. But there was not much else to do besides wander in circles—“pacing,” as the humans would call it. So when an unfamiliar knock sounded against the door, he bounded to answer it. Finally free from his boredom. “Hel—… lo.” 

Gilgamesh stared silently at him.

“Where’s Siduri?” Kingu demanded.

“She’s busy—is that a proper way to greet a king?”

“You didn’t even say ‘hello,’” Kingu grumbled. “Anyway, what do you want?”

“I’m going to give you a tour of Uruk.”

_ He meant that? _ Kingu studied the king for any tells. Surely, this was a joke.

“Don’t be ungrateful, mongrel. Who do you think has been providing your food and medicine every day?”

Well, the one who had been checking up on him, bringing food and medicine, was “Sidu… ri?”

“IDIOT! She’s only been delivering them!”

Kingu paled. To think he had fallen so low as to depend on the arrogant, human king!

“What’s wrong? Has your brain finally stopped working entirely?” Gilgamesh wore a surprising grin. “Hurry up. I don’t have that much time to waste.”

Kingu took Gilgamesh’s cue and turned back into the house to match his presentation to the king’s standards, taking the opportunity to regain his scattered composure. 

“Oh? I didn’t think you could do it,” Gilgamesh remarked as Kingu stepped out the door.

“Do what?”

“Put together a look that’s worthy of standing by my side.”

The king continued on, but the rest was lost on Kingu, who was shocked by the double-edged compliment. His face flushed a deep red.

“Anyway, let us begin.” Gilgamesh paid Kingu’s embarrassment no heed as he started his tour. “This house is on the outskirts of town, so we will head inwards, towards the center, and then back out.”

Kingu had not once left his home, so everything was new to him. It did not matter what direction they went in.

“That,” Gilgamesh pointed down the road, “is one of Uruk’s greatest prides.”

A brick wall. But it didn’t suffice to call it simply a wall. The wall was thick enough for tiny people to patrol on top. It was tall enough to cast a shadow over the nearby buildings. And it was long enough to extend indefinitely past Kingu’s field of vision.

“It is the great wall which protects all of Uruk.”

“Protects?” The giant wall was an enigma to Kingu. There was no wall which surrounded Atargata, only the endless sea. To Kingu, the wall was just a cage.

“Yes, protects. From beasts and enemy peoples.”

So the humans weren’t united? This was another shock for Kingu. To think they would fight and kill each other… How savage. Kingu could not hide his displeasure from his face.

“What’s with that face? We haven’t had a war in years. So long as that wall exists, the people of Uruk can live in peace.”

Then the wall was anything but a cage; it really was a shelter.

“Anyway, we’re heading in the other direction. There’s no point in leaving the city so soon. Come on.” Gilgamesh called Kingu and led him towards the center of Uruk.

The city of Uruk was organized very simply. Its residents were sorted into districts by occupation, which surrounded the central districts. Most remarkably, the city was crisscrossed with artificial waterways. Kingu scoffed at the sight; the humans had left the sea only to bring it right to their doorsteps. The other merfolk would have been offended by the canals—“how dare the insolent humans try to control the blessings of Tiamat!”—but Kingu was a bit grateful. He missed the sea.

Kingu would have been content to study at the man-made flow of water throughout the entire tour, but circumstances wouldn’t allow it.

“Oh, is that King Gilgamesh?”

“Your majesty!”

“What an honor!”

As Gilgamesh passed through each district, he created a commotion each time. Laborers stopped working, housewives and children appeared in the doorways of their homes, and people from anywhere and everywhere poured into the streets to greet their king. Kingu expected Gilgamesh to swat them all away, but instead, he turned towards Kingu, grinning, and proclaimed, "Look at all the diligent, loyal citizens of Uruk!" He turned back to the crowd, occasionally calling out to one person or another by name (and not the expected "mongrel") and asking about business. By the time they reached the central districts, Kingu, as much as he learned about Uruk, was even less certain of the king's character.

While surely big enough to qualify as districts, the central districts would be more aptly called monuments. One was an enormous, terraced pyramid built from clay. At the top of the sky-reaching steps sat a white, stone building. The other was a bigger mystery, for all Kingu could see were the stone walls. The white face of the wall was covered in imagery and statues, suggesting something even grander lay inside. Simple but tall, ostentatious but flat; the two structures balanced each other.

"Are those temples?" Kingu wondered aloud.

"Relics," Gilgamesh snapped. "Relics of when people cowered before mere fantasies.” He inspected them with irritation. “They serve no purpose in my Uruk. They would be more useful torn down and rebuilt as new districts for the working population."

If these temples were really built for Tiamat, it would only advance her rage to tear them down. Then, she would mercilessly re-establish her authority. "I wouldn't do that—"

"Would you shut up about that?” Gilgamesh turned his contemptuous gaze to Kingu. “It's annoying. What were you—a priest?—before you hit your head?"

Why did Kingu even bother? The man next to him epitomized human arrogance, the reason Kingu was sent to the surface in the first place. He doubted humanity could ever get saved. 

Kingu didn’t say anything; he didn’t want to entertain Gilgamesh’s hubris anymore. It was annoying enough that he predicted what Kingu was going to say.  _ He’s aware of the voice of reason, but he willfully chooses to ignore it—how foolish. _

“Stop gawking and come with me. Let me show you something more impressive.” After demanding Kingu to follow him, Gilgamesh headed outwards once again. They marched in silence until they had reached the base of the wall. “We’re going up.”

Although there was no practical value to this part of the tour, so long as Gilgamesh was his guide, Kingu could make no objections, so he followed the king up the stairs. Instead of looking outward, Gilgamesh pointed Kingu to the city which they had spent all day walking through. The sun, still high in the sky, was now shining down from the west. The sprawl of brick buildings radiated under its light. From above, Kingu could make out hundreds of tiny gardens which had been hidden from the street. He identified each district by their unique characteristics. With Gilgamesh out of the way, the people had returned to their work, but there were plenty on the streets: vendors, errand-runners, playing children. Tiny, swift, and graceful, the busy Uruks reminded Kingu of the fish in Atargata. 

Gilgamesh beamed as he watched his city. Without sparing even a glance for Kingu, he declared with exaggerated gestures, as though giving a speech to the people down below, "Look at the great city of Uruk! Its protective walls, its sturdy buildings! Its prosperity and its peace! Did any goddess build that? No, it was the Uruks who built this marvelous city. Look at how the little people work, content and undeterred. They don't need any goddess. They are working towards the future. Don't you see? Trembling in fear of the Goddess is the past; the future is the path upon which humanity walks, and Uruk is at the forefront.”

So that was the nature of the golden king Gilgamesh—a man overflowing with pride. His pride exceeded himself, stretching even beyond the walls of Uruk to its fertile plains, and, from it, his authority as king was born. Kingu had mistaken his remarks for selfish hubris, but it was the pride of his people. 

Kingu stared in awe at the golden king besides him. His radiance seemed to eclipse the sun. 

Finally, Gilgamesh acknowledged Kingu. "To suggest otherwise is an insult to the hardworking citizens, past and present. Don't do it again."

Kingu could only nod.

* * *

Something about Uruk changed for the remaining duration of the tour; the wall seemed grander, the people working harder, the farms more bountiful. Gilgamesh and Kingu had left the walled city, explored the farmland which surrounded it, and were drifting along the river which gave Uruk its vitality: the Euphrates. The water’s surface was remarkably different than its depths. The small ripples glistened under the sun’s rays. On top of it all floated an image of Kingu’s face. His reflection wore a small grin, which was unfamiliar to even Kingu. How he had missed the water. He reached his hand, stroked the waves, then dipped his fingers into the cool current. His fingers seemed to bend—Kingu recoiled his hand. He was sure he held them straight in the water (which was confirmed when he pulled them out), so why did they appear to bend under the water?

Gilgamesh threw back his head with laughter. “What happened? Afraid of your own reflection?!”

“No-no way!” Unable to directly fight the accusation, Kingu turned away and stared back into the water. Gilgamesh couldn’t call him a coward like this. He plunged his fingers back into the water and watched them bend again. He was determined to figure out the mystery. He repeated this several times, but while the phenomenon continued, there was no suggestion as to why. 

“Now what? Are you fighting?”

“N-no! I’m just studying it.” Kingu did not look up from his “study;” instead, he just leaned closer to the water, trying to ignore Gilgamesh’s ridicule. From such a close distance, maybe he could see the river’s contents. 

Kingu hit the water with a splash before he could realize what had happened. His body had completely submerged, and for a moment, it was tranquil, surrounded by the sea’s nostalgic embrace.

Then Kingu opened his mouth, and the scorching water flooded in. It weighed in his lungs like a bunch of bricks, smothering them.

Why? Why?! _ Why?! _ He was a merman. He was the son of Tiamat.

No, he was just a human.

The water, cold and unforgiving, crushed him like a pest to be disposed of.

Kingu needed to be free. On land. He thrashed, again, again, again. 

Then a wave of darkness.

* * *

Something warm wrapped around Kingu’s wrist, jolting energy into him, and yanked him out of the water. "I didn't permit you to die yet." Kingu knew that voice. Golden hair. Red eyes.  _...Gil…? _

Before he could fully make sense of his surroundings, Kingu doubled over, retching out the water which sat in the bottomless well of his lungs. Each draw of water was more painful than the last. 

When the coughing fit finally subsided, he fully registered Gilgamesh sitting across from him, a slight scowl on his face.

"… Why did you save me?" Kingu croaked.

"You're too entertaining to let die yet," Gilgamesh responded offhandedly, then muttered. "...besides, now you can't say that you saved my life."

" _ Huh? _ ” Kingu gaped. “Are you really that petty?!"

"A king can't be in a mongrel's debt."

"But you  _ do _ admit that I saved you.” Kingu would not live this down. “You know, normal people say 'thank you.'"

"Are you really that petty?” Gilgamesh gibed. “And I haven't heard you say 'thank you' yet either."

Kingu was not going to say that—not until Gilgamesh owned up to his own gratitude. 

Gilgamesh just sighed. “You got a closer look at Euphrates than expected,” he snickered, “But it can’t be helped. We should head back now.”

Kingu nodded. He couldn’t wait to be free. But then a group of men on boats caught his eye. “Wait. Are those fishermen?”

“Oh, we didn’t see them before.” Gilgamesh remarked, uninterested.

“Can I try?”

“What?” Gilgamesh stared at Kingu. “Do you want to go for another ‘swim?’”

“ _ No. _ I want to  _ try _ .”

“Fine.” Gilgamesh waved his hands apathetically. “But if you fall in again, you better hope one of those men is going to rescue you.” Despite his griping, Gilgamesh talked to the nearby fisherman and procured a spear for Kingu. “Show me what you can do, mongrel.”

Although incensed, Kingu pretended to ignore Gilgamesh’s provokation. He dipped the spear into the water, and as he expected, it seemed to bend upon entering the water. Nothing he couldn’t work with. He watched a decently sized fish, a barbel, swim towards him, closer, closer, closer, and then, he skewered it. 

“Aha!” Pulling the spear from the water, he beamed (somewhat maliciously) at Gilgamesh. “Hungry?”

For a few seconds, the king’s chin hung agape, and that was enough to transform Kingu’s ordinary feat into a great triumph.

“You got lucky,” Gilgamesh mumbled.

But within minutes, Kingu had pulled another barbel from the river. Then another, and another, and another. 

“Alright, enough!” Gilgamesh groaned. “I get it.”

Content with the king’s surrender, Kingu sat back down. “Here, you can give it back.”

Gilgamesh rolled his eyes. “Keep it.”

“Huh?”

“From now on, you’re going to join them.”

Kingu’s face lit up. Then he smirked. “So, I’m good, right?” Gilgamesh would have no choice but to acknowledge Kingu’s talents.

“As long as you’re living in Uruk, you need to be a productive member of society.”

Gilgamesh’s disregard of Kingu’s showing off was more crushing than Kingu wanted it to be. Not wanting to linger on it, he hastily moved on. “Man, these look good. I could eat one right now.” 

And he would have if Gilgamesh hadn’t raised an eyebrow. “Right now?”

“Why?” Kingu was bewildered.

“You don’t want to smoke them at least?”

“Oh.” So that’s what the humans did. Kingu’s face went red with the realization. “Yes, of course, I do!” He bluffed. “It was just an exaggeration.”

“Well, if you don’t know how to cook them, ask someone.” Gilgamesh muttered. “You should also learn how to swim soon.” Without another word, he began rowing back towards the city. They continued in a peaceful silence all the way to Kingu’s door. 

“Mongrel,” Gilgamesh called out before leaving.

Oh, how Kingu wished he didn’t respond to that. But it was too late. “What?”

“You weren’t half bad today.”

Kingu’s heart stopped for several endless moments.

“If you want to learn how to use that spear, I will teach you.”

Kingu only half-processed the words, but they threw him into a greater panic. 

“Don’t just stand there like an idiot!” Gilgamesh barked. “Or I’ll take the offer back.”

“Yes! I would like to!” Kingu blurted out.

“Excellent. Then I will send for you when I have time.” With that, Gilgamesh left.

... _ What? _ Did Gilgamesh just praise Kingu? And did Kingu just agree to meet him again? Kingu was undeniably an idiot—an idiot for making plans with Gilgamesh of all people, and an even bigger one for getting so worked up in the first place. 

No, Kingu tried to reassure himself, he needed to be on the king’s good side to carry out his mission. But before he worried about Gilgamesh, he needed to shape up.

* * *

Kingu did not find the idea of raw fish to be so objectionable (he ate them all the time in Atargata), but, in an effort to blend in, he tried smoking them as Gilgamesh had suggested. They usually ended up charred. Fortunately for him, Shamhat paid Kingu a visit one evening, volunteering to cook dinner: a one-night reprieve. As expected, Shamhat’s cooking was leagues above Kingu’s. The savory flavor brought back memories of Kingu’s first few days in Uruk, staying in Shamhat’s home. 

“Um, Shamhat,” Kingu began, confidence disappearing by the millisecond. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Oh, you’re welcome!” Shamhat smiled. “It was my pleasure.”

“I’ve been an interruption to your job and routine, so… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be!” Shamhat replied as though the words Kingu had struggled to say were a simple matter. “I can take days off sometimes, you know? Besides, I have something I should be apologizing about.”

“Huh? Why?”

“About the other day…” Shamhat maintained eye contact as she spoke. “While I really appreciate you standing up for me, you were put in danger because of me. I’m sorry to have—”

“Don’t apologize!” Why did she have to apologize for what that pompous egoist did? “Someone had to stand up to that narcissist!”

“I see.” Shamhat laughed. “If you feel that way, I’m glad. Thank you.”

“Besides, I’m better now. Nothing to worry about!”

“You know, I’m glad that you and King Gilgamesh are getting along now.”

Kingu blinked. “We are?”

“Yes, he said good things about you.”

“He did?”

“Let’s see.” Shamhat tilted her head. “That you can’t swim… that you have an absurd fear of fantasies… that you have a serious attitude problem…”

“Which of those are  _ good _ things?”

“Well, he said them all smiling.” Shamhat conveyed no doubt in her theory. “I think he likes you.”

“Great.”

Shamhat would have certainly known more about Gilgamesh than Kingu, but perhaps, just this once, she was wrong.

“Besides, he invited you to see him again, didn’t he?”

“...Yeah…” Kingu didn’t want to think about that incident again. 

“See? I’m sure he’s fond of you! Oh, come on! Don’t be like that. It’s a rare honor to make acquaintances with the king like this.”

Shamhat had a point. Kingu should have appreciated that the circumstances were now in his favor, but, at the moment, his mind was caught up with other things. “About Tiamat,” Kingu posed the question hesitantly, “Do you believe in the goddess?”

“Tiamat?” Shamhat pondered over the question. “I guess she could exist. It’s possible that a goddess created us people and put us on land. But you see, even if she does exist, she hasn’t done anything for us in a long time. Our ancestors built this city, and we work hard to keep advancing under the guidance of our king. We built our fortunes ourselves. So, it’s hard for me to believe.”

Gilgamesh had said the same thing the other day. The Uruks had long been independent. It was no surprise then that they couldn’t remember anything Tiamat had done for them. More than that, the Uruks were proud. They believed in their capabilities as humans and that they could advance through those abilities and willpower alone. There was no room for a distant entity like Tiamat in their tale of success.

“You’re a believer, right?” Shamhat continued. “I don’t think it’s wrong to believe. But just, maybe don’t mention it in front of Gilgamesh.” She winked.

That was for certain. The king took pride to a whole new level. 

“But King Gilgamesh is right. There’s something weird about you.”

“What do you mean?” Kingu demanded.

“Well, you appeared suddenly without memories and without basic knowledge. You couldn’t even walk. But nevertheless, you have strangely specific beliefs, skills, and knowledge. Just who were you before?”

Kingu frowned. Maybe Shamhat would believe him. No, he couldn’t tell her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you!” Shamhat rapidly changed tones. “Don’t worry about it, okay? There’s no use in fretting over what you can’t remember. What’s important is that you’re here now and what you do with that. You know, people don’t have a lot of time on this land, so we must make the most of it!”

Kingu had not given a single thought to the human lifespan, but it truly was short—lamentably so. Nevertheless, they were undeterred. The humans must have done more work in their lives than any of the complacent merpeople had done in the past two hundred years. They built Uruk, which must have taken generations to reach its current state (the founders were certainly dead). In fact, they were still working on it, even if they would die so soon. So that was the future they worked for, not only for themselves, but for their offspring too. It all seemed so foreign to Kingu, yet he felt deeply ashamed for not having realized it.

“Kingu?” Shamhat had inched forward to inspect Kingu’s hidden face.

“I’m sorry,” Kingu mumbled.

“Huh? No, no, I am the one who’s sorry. I really didn’t mean to make you upset.”

Kingu curbed his regret before looking up. “No, it’s fine. You’re right, Shamhat. It’s good to keep moving forward.”


	4. Tablet IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No more Kingu in the anime, but not to worry, but he's still here

“Are you sure you want to fight me now? I can easily beat you like this, you know.” Kingu twirled his spear in his hand for added effect.

“Impudent,” Gilgamesh growled. “Besides, you won’t be attacking me anyway.”

“Why not?” Kingu was itching to one-up Gilgamesh, who had yet to acknowledge him.   
Gilgamesh’s eyes flared, but he responded levelly, “Because I’m going to teach you defense. Your skills are completely useless as they are now.”

Kingu did not see how his skills were useless. If anything, learning defensive measures seemed silly for something like fishing, Kingu’s primary use for his spear. But Kingu decided not to say anything to avoid inciting his partner’s precarious temper. Instead, he just shrugged.

“You may have a knack for spearing fish, but certainly you haven’t forgotten what happened last time we fought?”

It was now Kingu’s turn to be annoyed. “No. I. have. not.” 

“Good.” Gilgamesh smirked. “Now, let’s begin!” He armed himself with a spear, pointing the blunt end towards Kingu.

Kingu waited for an attack, but not one came. Instead, Gilgamesh spoke again. “Do you want to get beaten?”

“No, but you haven’t even moved yet.”

“Idiot! I’ve already begun my move. You’re supposed to anticipate my attacks. Otherwise, you’re going to be defeated again.”

“You’re using the blunt end of the spear...” Kingu was tired of Gilgamesh’s commentary and wanted to move onto the main fight.

“Do you want to test out the other end?” Gilgamesh’s glare sharpened with dangerous intent, forcing Kingu into a defensive position. “Good.” Gilgamesh returned briefly to his leisurely smile before launching his first jab at Kingu.

The fights began with many comments from Gilgamesh, to Kingu’s dismay, but they were slowly replaced by the sound of clashing spears. Gilgamesh seemed to be enjoying himself, smirking when he passed through Kingu’s defenses and landed a blow, and grinning when he did not—when Kingu succeeded. Kingu also let himself be absorbed by the excitement: the swift movements, the coursing blood, the accelerating heartbeats. Time was too slow, too insufficient, and it fell by the wayside. The sparring pair only stopped when Kingu could no longer ignore the cumulation of tiny aches.

“Well done. You learn quickly.” Gilgamesh smiled with complete ease. He hadn’t a single scratch. “Do you have any injuries?”

“No.” Kingu decided to overlook the numerous little bruises. He could deal with them at home.

“No need to be vain,” Gilgamesh exhaled. “You won’t impress me by ignoring your injuries. That’s only foolery.” He beckoned a man into the room. “He will take care of whatever you need.”

Without the chance to retort, Kingu was led into another room. He sat tensely as the man inspected and treated his wounds. 

Kingu had not been trying to impress Gilgamesh. He only did not want to appear weaker than Gilgamesh. He only wanted to prove his strength to Gilgamesh, after having been humiliated. He only wanted Gilgamesh to acknowledge it, to admit to it.

When Kingu returned from the other room, he was greeted by an odd demand from Gilgamesh. “Come back the same time next weekend.” Perhaps it could have been called an invitation, yet there was no possibility of turning it down.

Nevertheless, Kingu hesitated. "Why are you training me, anyway?"

"I was in need of a sparring partner," Gilgamesh replied nonchalantly. As far as possible answers went, Kingu found the provided one to be unsatisfactory.

"But why me?"

"I've tested all the suitable men in Uruk.” Gilgamesh sighed. “But they don't have the right attitude."

Was Gilgamesh admitting he was wrong about Kingu’s attitude? Kingu decided to test it. "I thought I had an attitude problem."

Gilgamesh gave Kingu a brief, menacing look. "You do," he uttered. "But you're the only one so arrogant and so eager to fight me." As he finished his assessment of Kingu’s character, he grinned.

"That doesn't bother you?"

"No. You can't win. But your unyielding determination is a sight to behold.” Gilgamesh’s lips curled to a greater extent. “Don't stop fighting. I look forward to seeing what will become of you."

"Then I have permission to beat you."

"Don't get so ahead of yourself."

* * *

The sun was still high when Kingu packed up for the day. He threw the fish into his sack and prepared to head into town as usual. Rather than set up at the market, Kingu found it more useful to wander through the streets himself, trading his catches for whatever he needed. Through this method, he obtained food, furniture, and so many little trinkets that his brick house had begun to feel like a real home. His first stop was always the farms outside the walls. It was more convenient to pick up fresh items from the farms themselves, rather than the markets, on his way back into the city. 

On that day, however, Kingu was stopped unexpectedly. “Kingu!” It was a shepherd with whom Kingu frequently traded. “Can you help?” His nasal voice rose desperately.

“What is it?”

“There’s a lion terrorizing the herd! My wife is at the market. I do not think I can take on the beast alone…!”

Kingu had never seen a lion before, but he had heard about them a number of times—namely in horror stories of people getting eaten. Kingu wasn’t overly eager to take on such an opponent, but he wasn’t going to turn down a challenge. He wasn’t unfamiliar with fighting huge animals, after all. 

“Has the lion been terrorizing your herd repeatedly?” Kingu posed the question to get a picture of the situation.

“Yes, but my wife and I have been able to fend it off. But alone...”

It was decided. “Alright, then we kill it.”

“H-huh? No, no, we don’t need to do that! We just need to keep it from the sheep.”

“But it keeps coming back, right? Better to just get rid of the problem.” Kingu would not budge on the issue. Killing the lion would be quite an accomplishment, that even Gilgamesh couldn’t deny. He marched forward, spear in hand, in search of the lion. The shepherd followed nervously behind him. Kingu wasn’t sure how helpful the man was going to be; perhaps it would be better for him to keep out of the way.

The lion was unlike anything Kingu could have imagined. A giant animal which prowled on four legs. It was covered in sand-colored fur and darker, longer hair splayed around its triangular face. At the end of each paw were pointed claws. It seemed to breathe thunder.

Kingu’s heart thudded against his halted body. Blood ran from his face to his legs, tethering his feet to the ground. 

But Kingu steeled himself, glancing at the trembling (but still moving) shepherd beside him. He had to kill the lion.

Kingu realized that in order to land an attack on the beast, he couldn’t let it pounce first. Of course, it would also be foolish to charge at it head on, so he crept forward. He hoped the sheep were a good distraction. 

Finally, Kingu, the shepherd still right behind him, reached as good a distance as he would get. He charged at the beast and drove his spear into its hairy neck.

The lion pivoted and swiped at Kingu with a giant paw. The claws raked through Kingu’s skin like leaves. 

Kingu staggered backwards, barely clutching his spear in his right hand, but the lion wouldn’t let him go. It clamped on his left arm with its fangs. 

Kingu thought he had known pain. He thought he had adjusted to pain when he learned how to walk, yet this pain—this shock—completely overwhelmed him. It invaded his body, killing off all other senses. 

Somehow he was freed. He fell to the ground. But he didn’t feel anything. He saw the blurring silhouette of the lion thrash above him. 

He was going to die.

He couldn’t let the beast get on top of him.

He would be crushed. 

His usable hand clenched something. 

He was going to die.

He thrust the object at the lion. 

Blood splattered above him. 

Was that Kingu’s blood? He couldn’t tell.

Sensing a great relief (death?), his mind went blank.

“You’re an idiot.” A nasal voice was the last thing he heard.


	5. Tablet V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay!

Kingu’s body slowed to a halt, an exhausted ache pulling on his legs. Running was undeniably a self-destructive sport, entirely worse than walking. But it wasn’t Kingu’s choice. After Kingu had avoided Gilgamesh for weeks, the king had marched over to his house and nearly dragged him out. Luckily, he didn’t ask any questions (only scoffing), but he did not let Kingu off easy: ”If you cannot use your arm, we shall only use our legs.” So, because of Gilgamesh’s royal decree, Kingu had no choice but to go for a run every week. 

“Already done?” Gilgamesh must have noticed Kingu had stopped because he turned around a few feet ahead. His comment incited Kingu almost as much as his appearance. For someone who had just run a lap around Uruk, he looked impossibly fine. Tiny droplets of sweat outlined the sharp features of his face, running down his jaw. His skin and golden hair glistened under the sun’s rays. Most striking was his bare chest and abdomen. Each muscle was artfully chiseled into an intimidating yet admirable display of power.

Kingu, on the other hand, had been overwhelmed by an array of symptoms: his heart panicked in his chest, his stomach pinched and somersaulted over itself, and his lungs palpitated. He hoped his out-of-control condition wasn’t visible, but the red heat of his cheeks betrayed him.

“Need to take a break?” Gilgamesh asked.

“No, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You look like a caught fish—you should know what that looks like—gasping desperately for air.”

“It’s not  _ that _ bad...”

“Sit. Down.” Gilgamesh had taken a seat below Uruk’s wall and somewhat aggressively patted the ground next to him.

Kingu dropped down reluctantly, brushing shoulders with Gilgamesh, and his heart jumped back up. Despite what Gilgamesh recommended, Kingu was sure that he would not recover like this. He stared at the clouds—anything which would distract him from the presence-exuding man leaning next to him. A chair, a loaf of bread, a ziggurat… The puffy, white shapes paraded across the cerulean sky.

“Why do the clouds have different shapes?” Kingu thought aloud.

Gilgamesh invited himself to answer Kingu’s pondering. “They’re like stars. It’s their nature.”

Kingu found it hard to believe that stars—tiny glowing dots which punctuated the night sky—came in shapes, but he went along with it. “Then why do stars come in different shapes?”

“They are designed to be unique, just like people.” Another unhelpful comparison.

“You don’t know, do you? You’ve tricked all of Uruk into thinking you’re some kind of sage, but you just spout conveniently vague answers.”

Gilgamesh grumbled, and they fell back into silence. Kingu turned back to the line of sky-dwelling shapeshifters, but they proved to be unsatisfactory entertainment.

Trying to stir up another discussion, Kingu exclaimed, “Look, that one looks like a fish!”

Gilgamesh looked unimpressed. “A fish? I thought it looked more like a vase.”

“A vase?” Kingu snickered. “How weird.”

“It’s not weird. I am a collector, after all.”

“You are? What do you collect?”

“Everything.”

“ _ Everything? _ Even that sheep?”

“Yes.”

“Even Uruk’s wall?”

“Of course.”

“Even this grass?” Kingu ripped a handful of grass from the ground and threw it at Gilgamesh.

Giilgamesh scowled, but a smile threatened to undo his downturned lips. “What are you doing?”

“Adding to your collection,” Kingu chirped. Then he descended from the high of his teasing. “But if you collect everything, it must lose its meaning.”

“It’s not meaningless. Everything in this world should have a purpose.”

“Alright… Then what’s your favorite thing in your collection?”

“Wine.”

“That’s it?”

“With wine and the right people, you will always be entertained. In fact, with the right people, you can have almost anything—even that vase-shaped cloud.”

“If only it were shaped like a vase,” Kingu snarked.

Once again, silence wrapped Kingu and Gilgamesh like a blanket. Warm and comfortable, Kingu’s heart had mellowed into a gentle rhythm as they leaned against the wall, side by side.

* * *

Kingu had finished up his work and trading a while ago, but he enjoyed strolling as leisurely as possible on the way home, watching busy lives unfold on Uruk’s streets. The children were especially fascinating: babies crying until they are rocked in their mothers’ arms, children chasing each other without a care… They were original and refreshing in Kingu’s world of adults. So immature and helpless—how could such creatures exist and survive? They were ignorant even of the implausibility of their existence. At the moment, he was watching a child, inconsiderate of the large number of people in the way, kick a rock down the street. Some of the other pedestrians groaned as the rock slid past their feet, but Kingu was content to watch it from behind. The child skipped down after the rock, suggesting this was an ideal form of entertainment. Each movement beckoned Kingu to join in the fun and kick the rock.

“Kingu!” Someone called. Siduri. “It’s been a while!”

“Oh, Siduri, what are you doing here?”

“Me? I work here in my spare time.” Siduri gestured to the nearby tavern. “Want a drink?”

Alcohol was quite embarrassing to drink, but the Uruks loved it, so it was impossible to avoid. Kingu just nodded and followed Siduri inside “Why? Does Gilgamesh not pay you enough?”

“Oh, no, there’s no problem there. I just enjoy working here.” Siduri slipped behind the bar. “What would you like?”

“Whatever you recommend.”

Within a minute, Siduri had placed a beer on the counter. “I’ve been working here since before King Gilgamesh found me. Sometimes he still comes here—when he’s not busy or when he’s really stressed.”

_ Gilgamesh comes here? Would today be one of those days? _ Kingu looked around antsily. 

“Oh, Kingu!” A voice called—not Gilgamesh. “Thanks so much for taking care of those wolves the other day. I can finally go back to business as usual thanks to you.”

“It was no problem. If you run into any more, just let me know.” Kingu responded while trying to plug the leak of crestfallenness in his tone.

“Will do. Thanks again!” The man then sat down at a table in the corner.

“Seems like you’ve developed quite a name for yourself,” Siduri chimed in. “If you were fond of hunting, you should have told King Gilgamesh!”

That was the last thing he wanted to do; he had been trying so hard to keep it a secret from Gilgamesh. At first, he was ashamed of his near death experience, but overtime that shame had transformed into a desire to surprise Gilgamesh with newfound skills and techniques. “Why?”

“He also goes hunting sometimes. Well, as a hobby, but also as a display of power, I imagine.”

“And fighting every single man of the proper age doesn’t satisfy both those things?”

“Oh.” Siduri’s shoulders jumped back. “You heard about that?”

“He told me himself.”

“Oh…” Siduri laughed shakily.

“If you’re his advisor, why does he do things like that?”

“I’ve begged him to stop many times, but you know how he is. He doesn’t listen unless it’s convenient for him. But recently, he’s stopped doing it, you know.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“I don’t entirely understand it myself, but ever since you showed up, he’s done it less and less.”

_ Me? _ Kingu’s body tensed up from shock.

“So, I’m really grateful.” Siduri gently put her hand to her chest. “This must be inconsiderate of me to ask, but, Kingu, please don’t stop seeing King Gilgamesh.”

“Huh? I don’t mind. I sort of look forward to our meetings.”

“Oh, you do? Then I’m glad. That’s wonderful news.” Siduri smiled reassuringly as though promising to protect Kingu’s secret, a secret that Kingu himself was not privy to.


	6. Tablet VI

"I've got you now," Kingu whispered, his heavy breaths so close to Gilgamesh's skin. He held his wrist, pressing it against the brick wall.

In Kingu's firm hold, Gilgamesh's heart was exposed. He stared into Kingu's face with deep, red eyes. "Oh?' His lips curled. "Are you going to kill me?"

Kingu tightened his grip on the spear prodding Gilgamesh's chest. Gilgamesh continued, "You've gotten better, more aggressive. Fighting viciously, not unlike a beast—perhaps a lion?"

The spear in Kingu's right hand wavered. "You knew about that?"

"Did you think I wouldn't see your scars?" Gilgamesh's gaze drifted from Kingu's face to his chest, to his left arm, which Kingu instinctively yanked back. "Don't be embarrassed. You should be proud. Most people would not live long enough to worry about their scars."

With a sigh, Gilgamesh swatted away Kingu's spear and side stepped out of Kingu's reach. As though it were just a toy, he nonchalantly picked up his sword and fiddled with it in his hands. "You know, when we first met, if you had the skills, you would have killed me without hesitation. I miss that."

"Oh, do you want me to kill you now?" Kingu pivoted, swinging his spear by Gilgamesh’s face.

The weapons clashed and repelled each other. "You can't do it. You've grown soft. Helping farmers and such..." Gilgamesh thrust his blade towards Kingu's abdomen.

"That's a good thing." Kingu jumped out of reach before jabbing at Gilgamesh's side. "You could learn from it."

"What are you now, a philosopher?" Gilgamesh jerked around, sliding the blade under Kingu's chin. "Trying to lecture me?"

"No—" Kingu jumped back—"Even a child knows to help others. You're the only one who's idiotic enough not to know."

"Isn't the idiot the one who regularly puts his fate in the hands of savage beasts?" Gilgamesh lunged forward, driving the point of his blade towards Kingu's heart.

"If that’s the case—" Kingu swiped at Gilgamesh's legs—"You and I are the same." He shoved Gilgamesh's chest with his hand, then knocked away the sword as Gilgamesh stumbled and fell. "Since you decided to challenge me."

Kingu threw his weight over Gilgamesh, pinning his arms to the floor under his body. He tucked the spear under Gilgamesh's chin. In one small stroke, he could skewer Gilgamesh's throat—and kill him.

In that moment, Gilgamesh was the world, and Kingu held in his hands the power to destroy it. It was exhilarating.

Kingu’s heart raced between excitement and anxiety, and, despite their desperate grip, his fingers trembled incessantly. His breath skipped the stage of shallow, rapid futility straight to near non-existence; it waited in the crevices of his throat, ready to jump out only when Gilgamesh drew his last.

Gilgamesh’s chest undulated weakly underneath Kingu, each movement more precious than the last. But his eyes were unwavering. They did not surrender, but they did not resist either. Their steadiness anchored Kingu, and as they had time and time again, they welcomed his attacks: his victories, his failures, his near misses, they were all the same before those blood-red targets.

But this time, Kingu had undeniably won. He had beaten Gilgamesh, and he had beaten himself, for whom this task had previously seemed impossible. He pointed his stance. This victory had been his goal all along, long-wished-for and long-forgotten. 

The sound of footsteps flooded Kingu’s mind with thoughts of Uruk. The people of Uruk needed Gilgamesh. And Kingu also—

"Is everything going al—Ki-King Gilgamesh!" Siduri shrieked in the doorway.

Kingu’s victory fell from his panicked hands to the floor.

"It's not what it seems." Taking advantage of Kingu’s shaken composure, Gilgamesh slid out from underneath him and strolled towards Siduri. "What do you need?"

"Well, it's not very urgent..." Siduri’s darting eyes suggested at least some urgency in her mind.

"It's okay. We are wrapping up now." Although he put his hand calmly on Siduri’s shoulder, Gilgamesh threw his gaze back at Kingu.

With a single nod, Siduri ducked away from Gilgamesh and hustled to another room.

Finally, Kingu’s voice returned. "Um, Gil, ah, uh, Ki—"

"It's fine. No need to be so formal."

The words lifted Kingu off his feet in a wave of relief and joy. Once again, Kingu found himself in a position that he never imagined possible, and the feeling of satisfaction was even stronger than the last. "Okay—” Kingu inhaled—“Gil.” He savored the small word which had for so long waited at the edge of his lips. “Were you really going to let me kill you back there?"

Gilgamesh’s eyebrows shot up before furrowing deeply. "Idiot! There's no way I'd ever let that happen!" His indignation melted into a mellow grin. "But if you defeat me, then you can do what you want. I can't stop you, can I?" For a short eternity, he continued to hold Kingu in his gaze before he turned and left the room with a wave.

Even after he was released, Kingu could not move—neither his body nor his brain. Gilgamesh’s words coursed through him faster than his own blood, fortifying every muscle in his body, especially his heart. Kingu had not killed Gilgamesh this time, but he had won. Such a sweet victory it was that any further fighting seemed meaningless. But Kingu needed to keep fighting, to keep winning, each time more decisively, more impressively than the last. So long as Gilgamesh was still breathing, Kingu needed to keep winning over him.


	7. Tablet VII

Kingu was neither human nor mermaid. Without body or shape, he was the sea. He saw everything in his grand, blue expanse. And he felt it too. He welcomed it all: the swish of schools of microscopic fish, the flicker of tails of swimming merpeople (albeit less enthusiastically), and even the tiny pricks from the spears of human fishermen. They were all so small and meaningless and, in that, equal.

Tiamat’s song was everywhere, rippling through him in waves of sorrow. All the little creatures of the sea could not comfort her galactic loneliness. The wordless solitude enveloped Kingu in a pervasive anguish enough to make the skies cry.

Tiamat was in the temple. No, she was everywhere. Tiamat was the sea, and she was only lending her perspective to Kingu. 

Tiamat’s sea churned in her lament. On the surface, waves crashed back violently, hopelessly, to their core of despair. Even without a body, Kingu was rattled by her grief. But other presences caught Kingu’s attention: ten tiny anomalies lined up on the seabed. A serpentine, winged dragon whose golden horns glinted in the filtered light—Bašmu, an eyeless, maned beast scraping its flaming claws into the sand—Ušumgallu, a scaly lionesque creature waving its tentacle mane for easily caught prey—Mušmaḫḫū, a lengthy creature with mixed feet of lions and eagles who flickered its snakelike tongue and tail impatiently—Mušḫuššu, a giant with a red-streaked mane, sharpening its dagger—Ugallu, a ferocious dog baring its sharp but human jaw—Uridimmu, a half-man, half-scorpion waving its stinger overhead—Girtablullû, a thorny beast whose tail crept across the ground like a vine—Umū dabrūtu, a half-man, half-bull upturning the sand with stomping hooves—Kusarikku, and a creature who looked just like a merman but whose open grin revealed infinite rows of spiked teeth— Kulullû. The tempestuous waves stirred their animalistic tempers, yet they all stood in line, waiting for their mother, for Tiamat’s command. They stared into the horizon, towards a distant city above the waves—towards Uruk.

Kingu jolted awake. Sweat was fleeing from his pores, drenching his skin. Even as he adjusted to the real darkness of his surroundings, his breath did not settle.  _ Tiamat’s beasts… Uruk… _ His heart was ready to bolt. His body, although still weary from sleep, refused to lie any longer, so he lugged out of bed, freshened up hastily and tottered onto the now empty streets of Uruk. 

The moonless night was still as death. Not a soul moved. Even in the windows of homes, not a candle could be seen. Other than the tiny insects singing mournfully from the trees, Kingu was alone. No laborers chatting to lighten their jobs, no mothers guiding children by the hands, no vendors calling out to slow passerbys, no strollers basking in the sun’s light, no children ducking in and out of the crowds… Uruk at night was desolate. Dead.

Reluctantly, Kingu left the city and trudged towards the Euphrates. Although there was no light, Kingu had walked this path countless times to and from work that he had no trouble. In fact, it was the appearance of a light, a torch, which startled him. A familiar pair of red eyes flashed in the flame’s light.

“ _ Gil?! _ ”

The man stopped and examined Kingu from head to toe, and Kingu took the opportunity to confirm it was in fact Gil. Finally, Gil spoke, “What are you doing here at this hour?”

“I couldn’t sleep. What about you? Why are you awake?”

“As King, I am quite busy,” Gil muttered.

Kingu couldn’t help but snicker at the pathetic excuse given to him. 

Gil only growled slightly. “If you’re wandering about now, come with me.” He turned to the direction from which he came, towards the Euphrates.

“Don’t you have kingly midnight business to attend to, your majesty?”

Gil went rigid with a forced sigh. “Idiot. If you’re pacing around in the middle of the night, you must have something serious on your mind, right?”

Oh. Kingu nodded quietly and followed without objection. 

Finally, they arrived at the Euphrates. At night, its surface was a black void, speckled with stars. Kingu had not paid enough attention to the stars, and he looked up. The night sky was not truly black; a river of light coursed across its infinite expanse. Surrounding that stream were billions upon trillions of twinkling flecks: stars. Some shone brighter, some dimmer, but they were only as interesting as grains of sand. Something so tiny could not possibly come in different shapes.

Gil had sat on the river’s bank and invited Kingu to join him. “So, what disturbed your sleep?”

Kingu joined Gil on the grass. The warm firelight from the torch muddled his rationality. Under the orange glow, Gil appeared to be an alluring magnet, drawing out all of Kingu’s feelings: his hopes, his fears, his affection. Kingu wanted to reach out to him, to the lonely hand next to his own. But he was not so intoxicated by the starry night, and he kept his hand firm on the grass. Was it the lack of moon that made the night particularly cold? “A dream,” he admitted.

Gil did not speak, but his serious eyes beckoned Kingu to continue.

“It was a dream about Uruk’s fate.” Kingu relayed the nightmare with as much detail as possible.

Gil sat quietly, his gaze unmoving, until Kingu had finished. "So, you say Uruk is in danger."

"You don't believe me."

"No, I will believe you. You may be a worrywart with strange beliefs, but you're an honest person. So I'll trust what you saw in your dream." Gil’s eyes guided Kingu’s thoughts from the river back to the stars. "You know, you can use the stars to read the future,” he spoke softly. “They can tell us our fortunes and give us directions when we are lost." Even the undaunted king felt awe under the cosmic power of the night sky.

Kingu, however, did not. He revered only the ocean. Nevertheless, he was curious as to what they, insignificant glimmering dots, could mean. "What do they say?"

"They are guiding us forward and upwards. Even if Tiamat's assault comes tomorrow, Uruk shall certainly prevail. As long as the stars are shining on us, it is Uruk's destiny to reach them."

Gil’s eyes were always turned upward. And the city of Uruk followed him. Even the ziggurat was a monument to the heights the Uruks could reach. He was an ambitious, greedy king. Given the time, he could conquer the entire night sky. But no person was given such time, so he devoted himself to Uruk as it was building itself upwards.

If the sky was Uruk’s future, then the sea must have been a step backwards. The Uruks had left Tiamat’s sea a long time ago with the intention of only going up from then on. "Do you hate the sea? Tiamat?"

Although it was a serious question in Kingu’s mind, Gil laughed. "I have no strong emotions towards the sea. It is just a body of water, a resource for Uruk to use. Yes, our great city owes its foundation to the sea and its rivers. But it's humanity's innovation which propels Uruk to succeed, not the sea. Like a child from its mother, Uruk has become independent. There's no longer any need to revere old powers."

Kingu was not optimistic, but he hesitantly pitched his next question anyway, "But are you grateful, at least?"

"No. Like I just said, I don't waste any emotions on a body of water!” Gil shot Kingu an incredulous look before preceding calmly. “The sea is neither Uruk's friend nor enemy; sometimes its floods bring prosperity; sometimes they bring destruction.” He reached into the black river, letting its waves lap his fingers. “Were Uruk to control it, it'd be a powerful resource, but now it is just another variable force of nature. Now, let me ask you, why do you revere Tiamat?"

Kingu could not think of an adequate answer. Tiamat was always an unquestioned part of his world. She was as naturally to be revered as Kingu was to be king. Kingu scoffed at himself. Even if he had no solid reason, Gil, who judged Tiamat as unnatural, still expected one. "I guess it's because she was all I had besides my name. No family, no friends, no home... But even then, Tiamat..."  _ Even then, what? _ Kingu recalled his upbringing, memories from a previous life: fights with the old merpeople at the market, fresh meals on Gorgon’s dinner table, hours of solitary reflection… Where was Tiamat? She was everywhere, but she was nowhere.

"What are you talking about? You have me, don't you? And Shamhat. You have a home—and you have Uruk. Uruk is your city. So why are you still clinging to Tiamat?"

Kingu was stunned by Gil’s ardent response. Kingu had lived in Uruk for so long, and yet he had never realized it—he was an Uruk. The ever-growing, undeterred city was the place he called his home, and the city had accepted him, a lonely exile. A single tear was followed by a few more, picking up such momentum as it rolled down Kingu’s cheek that he could not stop the sniffles and eventual hics that joined it. All Kingu could do to preserve his dignity was look away.

“I don’t understand you at all.” Gil sighed. A firm arm wrapped Kingu’s shoulders, placating their trembles. Its warmth melted away whatever tears lingered inside Kingu. 

A gentle hand nudged Kingu’s chin up towards the night sky. “Do you know about the constellations?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beasts in this fic are a mix of the FGO and myth versions (and a bit of imagination).


	8. Tablet VIII

When Kingu woke up, the sun was casting a long, fiery light through his window. It must not have been long after he had gone back to sleep. Yet there was an unusual clamor outside Kingu’s front door. It was a stark contrast from the dead city Kingu had seen during the night, but the liveliness did not bring Kingu any relief. He hastily threw on some clothes and stumbled outside. There was a mob of people bustling around Uruk’s fortress wall.

“Oh, Kingu!”

“It’s Kingu!”

Kingu’s name erupted through the crowd before a soldier finally spoke to him, “Kingu, you’re just the man we need! Please, come with me.” There was a nervous dance in the soldier’s feet, which he then channeled into a brisk march up the stairs of the wall. Kingu followed uncertainly. “You’re an expert at this kind of thing, right?”

Kingu didn’t have time to rack his mind over the man’s comment when he was met with more sighs of relief atop the wall.

“We’re saved.”

“Finally a man who knows what he’s doing.”

But Kingu did not know. 

“Please look.” The soldier gestured to Uruk’s fields. 

Uruk’s fields were being trampled under the claws and talons of numerous demonic beasts, and yet another stirred the waves of the Euphrates. A large, bearded beast was tearing through the wool of sheep and the thick skin of pigs, tossing the chunky flesh into its human lips. Although it had the body of a dog, it towered on its hindlegs. A field away, a lengthy reptile threw away gathering people with its tail pincer. It crushed the chest of an unconscious farmer with its lion paw before kicking the body aside. Another scaled creature thrashed its tentacle mane against Uruk’s wall, scraping its claws against the sturdy brick. The entire fortress shook. There were ten beasts in total. Were they all to turn their attention to Uruk’s wall, it would not hold. 

Tiamat had sent her beasts to punish mankind. If she was just demanding their reverence, perhaps they would be spared if they repented. But neither of those things would happen. Kingu inhaled and muttered to himself, “It’s impossi—”

“What are you saying, fool?” An overly confident voice popped up behind Kingu.

“Gil?!” Along with Kingu, a number of soldiers also shouted in surprise. 

“Why are you surprised, mongrel? Am I to do nothing when I hear my city is under attack?” Gil looked past the men, who were now down on their knees, straight at Kingu. “Are these the creatures you saw in your dream?”

“Yes, but…”

“Tell me everything you know about them.” Gil grabbed Kingu’s arm and pulled him aside. “You there!” He called one of the men on duty, “Record everything he says. Then, you are to disseminate the information immediately once I dismiss you. Everyone else, keep watch and prepare to fight! Make sure to let in any Uruks from outside!”

“Are you actually…?! Those are Tiamat’s beasts! Those men will surely die if they try to fight!”

“Calm. Down.” Gil brought his hand to Kingu’s shoulder and expelled the tension from his body. “You know more about what we’re up against than anyone else. Now, if you don’t want those men to die in vain, you will tell me all that you know.”

Kingu nodded with an exhale before describing in detail each of the ten beasts he recognized.

The man Gil chose as scribe trembled with each new beast, but Gil listened without a single change to his stern expression. Only after he had dismissed the other man did he scowl. “What a troublesome woman…”

“Listen, Gil, Tiamat only wants respect. She doesn’t hate Uruk. Fighting is futile—meaningless! If you just—”

“You idiot! Uruk will defeat Tiamat. We  _ must  _ defeat Tiamat. There is no place for her in Uruk’s future.” Gil’s conviction seemed infallible. 

“Then, Gil, you’re going to…?”

“I am Uruk’s king. Of course, I will fight.”

“But!”

“Uruk is nothing without its king, and likewise, a king is nothing without its city, so it’s natural that I would fight besides my people.” After his bold declaration, Gil paused. “But what are you going to do?”

“You mean you’re not going to force me to fight?”

Gilgamesh sighed. “I would love to tell you to fight, but to do so is as good as sending you to your death. That would be an even greater waste.”

Kingu’s mind blanked, and he was sure he had mixed up his memories of the last few seconds. “What do you mean by that?”

“If you’re going to be so contentious, use that against the beasts—or so I’d like to say.” Gil’s red gaze paralyzed Kingu’s heart. “You must be in a deeply troubling position right now. If you went to battle so half-heartedly, you’d only die. So go home and think about it—think about what you want to do. And don’t bother coming back here unless you’re fully determined. I don’t need any feeble help.”

Before Kingu could put his thoughts together, Gilgamesh had let go and turned for departure.

Kingu was unable to voice his worries outside of a whisper. “Gil…”

“What?” Gilgamesh spun around. “Do you underestimate me and think I won’t be able to slay a few animals?’ He flashed an ordinary cocky grin. “Or are you worried that the beasts will kill me before you can do it yourself?”

Kingu couldn’t help but crack a smile. “I don’t want an easy target, so you better come back in one piece.”

“Of course. I have no intentions of being killed—not by the beasts, and not by you.” Gilgamesh’s hand brushed Kingu’s but it pulled away sadly in less time than they had connected. Kingu’s eyes followed it longingly as it disappeared from the safety of the wall’s lookout. 

* * *

Normally, Kingu would walk to the water to organize his thoughts, but that was the least viable place at the moment, so he hurried back to his little home in Uruk.

Kingu was Tiamat’s son. As long as he held the name Kingu, it would represent his heritage and his destiny. Tiamat had entrusted him with an important task. She had confided in him her loneliness and sorrow, which Kingu had vowed to resolve. He had understood her solitude deep within.

Until recently.

Kingu had filled the emptiness in his heart with tiny jobs and trinkets, with trades and weekly meetings. As Gil had said, Uruk, with its walls and canals, its street markets and brick houses, had become Kingu’s city. 

Currently, that city was on the verge of disappearing. There was no possibility for peace anymore. Tiamat had condemned the Uruks, and she would not relent until they were punished. The Uruks were desperately fighting for their lives and for all that they and their ancestors had built. Did Kingu have the right to be a part of that?

Kingu’s hope for peace was only a delusion of his indecision, but he was now too restless to deliberate. He examined the small house he had decorated: the furniture and tapestries from artisans at the market, the decorative spear from the other fishermen to celebrate his 100th catch, the wool blanket from a shepherd after he had fended off a lion, the clothes from Shamhat.

The confident war cries and screams of pain and terror mixed together outside the window. It was impossible to hear Tiamat’s song.

Most unpleasantly, Kingu remembered Atargata’s snobbiest mermaid, Ishtar. When he had last seen her, she had said, “you should find out where you want to be.” Kingu growled before departing.

* * *

The blue dragon hissed. Its four heads danced in anticipation, tongues flickering in and out of its crimson fangs. Its prey was trapped under its golden claw: a man with equally golden hair. Gil.

Gil turned towards Kingu with a nonchalant smirk. “I knew you would come!” he called.

Kingu stabbed at the arm of the Bašmu and threw it off Gil’s body. “What were you planning on doing had I not shown up?”

“There’s no merit thinking about that. You came just as I planned.” Gil slithered out of immediate danger and positioned his sword.

“Didn’t I say not to cut off its head?! Why does it now have four?!” Kingu struggled to fend off each of the four heads with his spear.

“Yes, but what am I supposed to do when one almost bites my head off?”

Kingu groaned, ducking between the heads. While Gil kept the heads preoccupied, Kingu slid to the side and thrust his spear into the belly of the beast then tore open the armored flesh along the length of its snakelike body. The heads, now five, lost momentum and fell one by one around the king.

Kingu’s chest bloated. “Did you see that? I’ve killed one!”

“I weakened it,” Gil muttered, joining Kingu’s side.

“That’s quite the claim to make given that I just rescued you.”

“Thank you.”

Kingu froze except for his heart which panicked. 

“Hey, don’t zone out already. We’ve still got more beasts to take down.”

Kingu looked around; most of the beasts were still prowling around Uruk. One by one, they would need to be taken down. Kingu’s comments had riled up Gil, and each beast became a competition. By sunset, the score was Kingu: 3, Gil: 2, and four had been slain by Uruk’s soldiers and farmers.

“This... is the last one…” Kingu panted, gesturing at a maroon, winged beast with glowing flames raging on its feet. Its mane was so thick it covered up its lack of eyes.

“What? Are you tired?” Gil grinned weakly.

“Not in the slightest.” Kingu lied. He couldn’t be tired until he had slayed the last beast. He certainly wouldn’t let Gil do it. Just like he had many times before when hunting lions, Kingu only needed to pierce through the Ušumgallu’s side to its heart. 

He stalked up to the Ušumgallu, monitoring the slow, rhythmic land of each footstep. Where was Gil? Was he going to let Kingu finish it off after all?

The beast reared its head, the flames of its paws shooting up towards Kingu. Kingu stumbled backwards. Its breath reeked of scorched flesh as it unhinged its jaw. It swept at Kingu. He dodged. Once. Twice. He tumbled to the ground.

“Ah…!” Kingu gasped. His hand fumbled through the grass for his spear. 

Blood poured on top of Kingu. When he looked up, he saw Gil’s sword running through the Ušumgallu’s maw. 

After the beast went limp, Gil pulled out his blade. “It can’t see, so you just have to be extremely quiet. Thank you for making so much noise.”

Kingu growled.

“Anyway,” Gil continued, “that’s a victory for me.” Instead of offering Kingu a hand in getting up, he lay down on the grass next to him.

“I think that makes us even.”

“I’m glad you came, Kingu.” Gil’s serious tone silenced whatever snarky remarks Kingu had been thinking up. “Thank you.”

Kingu couldn’t possibly explain the unbearable stress of his decision nor the great relief he felt upon hearing Gil’s words. “Of course.”

Despite the splatter of blood on his clothes and the array of small wounds, Gil, as he laid, eyes closed, next to Kingu, looked more peaceful than he normally did. Kingu was reluctant to disturb him. “...Um, don’t you have important business to get to?” Kingu asked in spite of himself.

“No, I’m tired.” Gilgamesh cracked open an eye to stare at Kingu. “There are preparations for a feast, but I’ll let someone else begin those.” And he closed it again. His breath shallowed into a steady rhythm. Perhaps he fell asleep.

A weary ache nagged at Kingu’s body, yet he also felt a sense of peace fall over him. The frenzied rejoice of the Uruks was far-off white noise. Beneath him, the sturdy earth coaxed out the tension from within him. His hand crept across the ground in search of another. Finally, he let sleep take over as Gil’s fingers curled around his.

* * *

Silence haunted Kingu’s house. The commotion had moved from the wall to a plaza deeper within for a grand celebration. Only Kingu remained on the outside. He didn’t belong in their celebration, nor did he think it was time to celebrate. Having slept earlier in the day, Kingu was restless and circled his room over and over. 

There was a knock on the door. Kingu trudged to the door. “Huh? What are you doing here, Gil?”

“I could ask you the same question. Everyone is celebrating, and they’re looking for you.”

_ For me? _ “Well, a disappearing king would definitely create a bigger panic than a disappearing fisherman.”

“It’s good to see you’re still in good humor. But why are you here? Are you injured?”

“No, I’m not injured.” Kingu sighed. “I just think it’s too early to be celebrating.”

“ _ ‘Too early?’ _ ” Gil laughed. “It’s practically midnight!”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Gil’s laughter vanished. He looked left, right, then invited himself through Kingu’s door. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Kingu hesitated, unsure of how Gil would respond to his incomplete information. But ultimately, there was no use in keeping it secret. “Tiamat should have another beast.”

Gil threw his head back. “ _ Another one?! _ Because ten weren’t enough for that woman?!”

“She was already resentful before, and now we’ve killed ten of her children…”

Gil’s exhausted eyes investigated Kingu’s face, then he spoke softly. “I understand. What do you know about this one?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know very much about it. It didn’t even appear in my dream.” Kingu racked the recesses of his brain for stories he may have heard as a child. “It should be Tiamat’s oldest ‘child,’ Laḫmu. But I don’t know anything beyond that.”

Not even the anxious silence could interfere with Gil’s stern gaze. “Well, there is no value in worrying about something that we know nothing about, nor whether it will even happen.”

Gil’s apathy did not surprise Kingu, but it did not reassure him either. “We should be making preparations—”

“For what? Uruk’s walls still stand strong, and neither I nor you know enough to make any judgments.” Gil’s fingers soothed Kingu’s trembling hand. “Besides, what more is one beast? You and I have already hunted down six of them.”

Gil was too close, too captivating, for Kingu to look away, as much he wished to avoid his comments.

Gil continued, swiping away some of the messy strands of hair which had fallen onto Kingu’s face. “You fought well today, so you should be celebrating your accomplishments.”

“Thanks, but…”

“Or if you refuse to do that…” Gil was so near that each word was warm on Kingu’s lips. “Then you should celebrate mine.”

Then a smirk broke out on Gil’s face. “If anyone in all Uruk needs a few drinks, it’s you, so you can stop worrying needlessly.”

“That’s okay. I shouldn’t d—” Kingu wanted to politely refuse (he didn’t want to embarrass himself in such a large group), but Gil did not seem worried.

“Come on!” Gil tugged at Kingu’s hand and dragged him through the empty streets of Uruk. 

Although Kingu arrived with Gil, he was quickly pulled away into the swarm of rejoicing Uruks. Instead of questioning his late appearance, they were eager to hand him food and drinks. The number would quickly become overwhelming, Kingu predicted, but he couldn’t turn away their generous gratitude. Kingu was swept away in a warm feeling: the symphony of praises, the twinkle of lights, the booze. Everyone hugged their neighbors and even strangers, and amidst the multitudes, Kingu was no different. 

Eventually, he stumbled into someone’s arms. “Enough! Don’t give him any more to drink!” Kingu pieced together what he recognized and realized it was Shamhat. “How are you feeling, Kingu?”

“Great,” Kingu mumbled as he was practically carried from the crowd.

“At least you think so,” Shamhat tsked but then laughed. “Anyway, Kingu, I’m glad I got to see you while you’re mostly conscious. I’m sure you’ve heard this a million times already, but I wanted to thank you for today. Without you, I don’t know what would have happened. The whole city of Uruk thanks you.”

The city of Uruk had accepted Kingu. They appreciated him. 

Kingu was unable to verbalize the joyful melody which rang out in his head, and the most he could produce was some drunken tears.

Shamhat continued, “As an Uruk, it must be the greatest honor…”

Kingu’s brain had stopped registering what Shamhat was saying. Kingu was an Uruk.


	9. Tablet IX

Although his room was still full of darkness, Kingu was awoken by a determined knock at his door. As much as he would have preferred to ignore it, each pound rattled his aching skull, and so he could not let it continue. He lazily dressed himself then opened the door. 

It was one of his neighbors, who wasted no time with greetings. “A monster…! At the square…!”

_ ‘At the square?’ _ Kingu could not understand how a beast could get over the wall, but he didn’t have time to ponder over it. He grabbed his spear and ran towards the square, the same one the party had been at. Apparently, some people had been cleaning up from the night’s festivities, when a terrible creature suddenly appeared.

The neighbor who had informed Kingu of the attack had also refused to go within two blocks of the plaza, so Kingu was left alone. Up ahead, it was strangely silent. Hopefully, the people there had either gotten away—or they had died. 

The only sound was the violent pitter-patter of rain until it was disturbed by footsteps and a voice behind Kingu. “So it actually came…” Gil’s tone was weighed down with fatigue.

“Let’s quickly defeat this beast. I have a terrible headache.”

“Oh yes, I heard you got quite drunk last night.”

Kingu growled at Gil’s smirk.

The puddles which accumulated in the square were tinged red from disfigured corpses. In between the bodies, a strange creature scuttled frenetically. It was not like anything from the earth or sea. With twisted, talonesque legs, its movements were so rapid and so wild that they seemed to rupture space itself. Its vertical jaw chattered maniacally. 

“Did you figure out anything about this… thing?” Gil forced out the words quietly. Every one of his muscles stood on end.

“No, I don’t know anything besides what I said yesterday.” Even looking at it, the Laḫmu was impossible to decipher. “Well, if it’s alive, it must be able to die.” But even that didn’t seem certain. 

Gil looked doubtfully at the creature then back at Kingu. His lips parted.

“uQAMo Iwhhy dZNey nBVgg kBlUo wcFzx sMnri xoJon RIyro BCxgh NqgYU bZBMu XbxoH q”

“Did it just speak, or try to?” Gil uttered weakly.

But there was no time to decipher the noises the Laḫmu had evidently made. Although it had no eyes, Kingu felt a vicious gaze upon him. Then it ran at him.

“HEhehAhaHAhAHA HEHehiHihahAhaHah AhaHAheheHeHaAH”

Gil jumped in front of Kingu with his sword ready to block the attack. Then another came. And another. Slice after slice, faster than Gil could possibly move, it hacked through his armor. Gil glanced back at Kingu, then they both darted in opposite directions. 

For a second, the Laḫmu’s legs rotated in confusion, then it straightened, facing Kingu.

“iwHiU xVBZY ckNVy”

Kingu only needed to hold its attention. He held his spear defensively and deflected the strike. From there, he was on retreat, jumping back from each swing. His body stung with tiny scrapes. Each landing swayed more than the last.

Gil sliced off the Laḫmu’s back leg.

It paused. Then its legs whirled to create a tripod, and its torso swivelled to face Gil.

“KZEua kVGqc xoqOy PwEeI ezpON i”

The Laḫmu shredded through Gil’s armor. He scrambled on the ground.

Kingu stabbed at the creature. Twice. Three times. Then it responded to his prodding, whipping around. Kingu dodged. One hit landed. Then two hits. Then an unbearable number.

Gil staggered to Kingu’s side to relieve the burden. He shot Kingu a look which seemed to say ‘let’s try that again.’ With one apologetic look, Gil was gone again. 

Gil crept around the Laḫmu. Then he thrust his sword towards its head.

The Lahmu pivoted and plunged its leg into Gil’s gut.

“hehhIeHEeHahAhAhAHEHEhAHahAhA”

Gil was out cold—if he was even alive.

Kingu was revitalized with fury. Coursing blood powered each meaningless jab. Cut after cut after cut. Sensation bled from Kingu’s wounds. But he kept attacking. As long as he could stand, he could…

He could win. 

Kingu threw all his weight into his spear and skewered the Laḫmu through its torso. 

“iwhcc vtaun lmsul qqikh hehehahhaehiahaa”

Kingu waited for the teeth to stop chattering. Then the Laḫmu crumbled into dust. Kingu raced across the plaza. “Gil!” 

Gil was pale, but the pooling blood was already a deep color despite the diluting rain. Kingu immediately pressed his hand against Gil’s exposed wound. The overflowing blood was warm, his skin cold.  _ You can’t be dead. _ With his other hand, Kingu felt Gil’s chest. The first rise, Kingu thought he imagined it; the second was undeniably real. He was still alive. 

Relief lasted but one sigh, then panic took over. Gil was alive, but for how much longer? Kingu had no idea how to take care of him. Blood continued to well under his trembling hand. 

_ You can’t die yet. _

Kingu wanted nothing more than for Gil’s eyes to open. Those red eyes would reassure him. But the most Gil’s body would do was writhe and moan. There was no sign of consciousness.

Kingu needed to get Gil to better help. But first he needed to stop the bleeding to the best of his ability. He took off his shirt, which was already in rags, and cinched it around Gil’s waist. Blood sputtered from Gil’s lips, then he was still again. Ever so gently and painstakingly, Kingu lifted Gil into his arms.

Holding Gil close to his chest, Kingu stumbled through the streets, looking for a familiar home. In the unrelenting rain, Uruk became a dreary labyrinth, his destination impossible to find. Finally, he made it to a moderate-sized brick building. Despite the lack of outward-facing windows, Kingu was certain he was at the right place. He pounded furiously at the door.

A woman in a simple dress came to the door. “Hello?—Ki-King Gilgamesh!!”

Kingu was at a loss as to how to explain what happened to Gil. “I…”

Shamhat quickly took Gil’s body from Kingu and hurried it inside. 

Kingu waited outside in the drizzling rain for an indefinite period. Eventually, Shamhat rushed back to the door. “We need—Kingu! Are you okay?! What happened?!”

Kingu was at the brink of exhaustion; his worry was the only thing keeping him on two legs. “We defeated the last beast…”

Shamhat seemed to loosen up, and she threw her arms around Kingu. “I’m so relieved… Kingu… Thank you… Thank you so much…”


	10. Tablet X

Although the doctor assured Kingu and Shamhat that Gil would recover, Kingu was fraught with worry, making it impossible to rest as the doctor had suggested. Kingu lay on his bed, watching the surrounding room transition from dark to darker. A rhythmic rain rapped on the roof. But finally, Kingu’s mind melted into a dream. 

The Temple of Tiamat remained unchanged, but the current which coursed through it had a different character. It tore through the chamber, encircling the goddess with a storm of fish, desperately trying not to be swept away. Tiamat howled madly with grief. 

“HE BETRAYED ME!! HE MURDERED MY CHILDREN!!!

“My precious children… They died too soon… They didn’t deserve this…

“Unlike those arrogant Uruks! How  _ dare  _ they! To be so ungrateful! And slaughter my children!

“After all I’ve done for them… they too are my beloved children… but they forgot me, their mother…

“I’ll never forgive his insolence!! He may kill my beasts, but I will punish him.

“How could he be so heartless…? He knowingly betrayed his own mother’s desires…

“So I must kill him! He must atone for his sins!

“How terrible it is to lose another child… I’ve already lost so many…

“If he doesn’t want to die, someone else must be punished for Uruk’s crimes—the irreverent king Gilgamesh! If he kills the king Gilgamesh before his own time runs out, I will spare his life.”

Kingu jolted from his sleep. He had been clutching something in his hands—his spear. He threw it to the floor. Although his mind was alert, his body was sluggish. He lay in bed, trembling.

_ Kill Gil? _ The image of Gil’s paling body popped up from every recess of his brain. How could Kingu kill him in such an unfair fight? They had been training together, fighting together, as equals. To kill Gil while he was in such a state would be nothing more than a murder. 

More than that, Kingu couldn’t kill Gil for his own sake. It was Kingu’s crimes, his arrogance and negligence, that had to be punished. Killing Gil as a cheap get-away from responsibility made Kingu’s stomach churn.

Kingu stared at his shaking hands in disgust. Sleep pulled on his eyelids, but it was death that waited at the foot of his bed for his final dream. 

* * *

Another knock at the door. Up until the attacks, Kingu rarely had visitors, so the frequent knocks filled him with dread and anticipation. Maybe it was Gil at the door. Kingu dismissed the baseless hope as he opened the door. 

Siduri. Close enough (she must have come on Gil’s behalf), but still disappointing. “Hi, Kingu—are you okay?”

Kingu hadn’t checked a mirror before he answered the door, but he figured he looked pretty unfortunate. Was it the countless petty wounds or the restless sweat? How unsightly. “It’s a fever.”

“Oh dear!” Siduri’s gaze began flitting around as though there was a magic cure somewhere in the vicinity.

Kingu did not know how to deal with Siduri’s concern. “How is Gil doing?”

“Oh, he’s doing well,” Siduri seemed relieved. “He’s still bedridden, but his attitude is back to normal.”

“For better or for worse.”

Siduri giggled. “I’ll tell him you sent your regards. I’m sorry we can’t do much right now to thank you for all that you’ve done, but it’s not really a great time for anyone, is it?”

Kingu shook his head.

“When King Gilgamesh is well enough, I’m sure he’ll want to see you right away. So you should focus on getting better. We can’t have you sick when you meet.”

“Of course.”

“Just rest up. I’ll make sure you get enough food, so you don’t have to worry.”

“Thanks.”

Kingu waved half-heartedly as Siduri left. He would never recover to meet Gil. As a merman, Kingu never thought about death. It was a foreign concept, something that only occurred above the surface. But when he accepted Uruk, he let it creep into his life. It ate away at him: physically when he slept; mentally when he was awake.

He couldn’t fully fathom death. How could he just stop existing entirely? What would happen after? Would he be remembered?

Selfishly, Kingu wanted to be there to see Uruk’s future. Not just its recovery from Tiamat’s attacks, he wanted to see the promising future Gil read in the stars, although he didn’t have any goals for himself; he had abandoned them one by one. Even killing Gil was now impossible. The person he had been had died, and it was only natural for his body to go with it. 

That was the conclusion he came to. But he hated it. Kingu had been destined for greatness—he was certain—how did it result in such futility? What was the value of a human life, one fated to end so quickly? The Uruks were building a future, but Kingu was not a part of it. 

* * *

Kingu eyes creaked open to the same monotonous ceiling. Plain sunlight entered through the window. With the light alone, Kingu could not determine the time. If he awoke to the knock of the food delivery, he could guess the time. But sometimes he woke up too early; sometimes he slept through it. On other days, he heard the knock but had no energy to get it. This time he had woken up to silence, but he lacked the energy to check whether he was early or late. As it was, Kingu was still nibbling on the portion that arrived several days ago.

It had been eight days, or so Kingu estimated, since he had seen anyone he recognized. The delivery man was always a stranger. So Kingu’s social interactions had been limited to ‘hello’s and ‘thank you’s. Neither could fake any interest in each others’ lives. Kingu’s life was almost over; he had nothing to say in the first place.

At first, Kingu had been afraid, but even the fear subsided as he mulled over the oppressive human lifespan for the thousandth time. It was mercilessly short, yet each individual day was torturously long. Kingu counted the dust particles, suspended in the air, unmoving, for not even a gentle breeze visited him.

Death weighed down Kingu’s limbs with a tiring ache. Its cold presence made him both shiver and sweat incessantly. When the cold became too overwhelming, he curled into a ball, but eventually the gross sweat would force him into another position. Even those simple movements ate away at his energy, and he would fall back into a superficial sleep, turning and turning.

Kingu tired of the ceiling and rolled on his side. He brought his knees to his chest and cursed them. He hated his legs and the miserable fate they brought him. In his delirium, he reached mental clarity. He was never an Uruk. So they afforded him no pity. 

Kingu scorned himself and them. He had been delusional, and they, so apathetic, so ungrateful. He had betrayed his past and gave up his future for their sake, yet they left him to die alone. Why did they deserve to live on peacefully without him? They damned themselves, and Kingu tried to save them. Why was Kingu the one to be punished?

Even the people he thought he was close to abandoned him in the end: Shamhat, Gil… They did not visit him nor even check in on his well-being. Kingu had been especially foolish to think Gil cared about him. As Uruk’s king, he made it abundantly clear that he was only concerned with his city and subjects—which Kingu could never be a part of.

But Kingu’s greatest mistake was letting himself care about the king. That was never part of the plan; in fact, it was laughably contrary to the plan. Gil was the enemy all along, his target. But only now did Kingu detest him. He hated that Gil had forsaken him. 

Kingu wanted to see him. He wanted to hear from him that it would be okay (even if it was a blatant lie); just his presence would ease Kingu’s symptoms. As Kingu hugged himself, he wanted Gil to hold him.

Kingu’s cheeks burned red as tears spilled over them. The first tears were self-pitying, but eventually only remorse overflowed. He couldn’t blame the Uruks for his misfortune; they had given him food, clothes, company, and a home. If he regretted his decision now, that would only make his life even more meaningless. 

Kingu peered out the window, the setting sun casting a golden light over the city. Uruk’s future was the sea of stars. Although Kingu was but a far-off observer, he could only admire their sparkling grandeur. He closed his eyes to sleep, and the clear Milky Way he imagined was shut out by a fathomless darkness.


	11. Tablet XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter; I hope you've enjoyed!

A few days later, Kingu woke up with the sun. He longed for the sea, its warm embrace and caressing currents. For the first time, he didn’t feel heavy with illness; he felt light as though his soul was nearly detached from his body. For that reason, he decided to make the long journey to the beach. He had heard stories of Uruk funerals where the deceased were dressed up and put out to sea, so he decided to put on his best outfit, one Shamhat had given him that Gil had said looked good. But when he looked in the mirror, he didn’t see anything remotely beautiful. He was a corpse in clothing, skeletal and pale. But no one would send him off, so it didn’t matter how hideous he looked. 

In a short while, Uruk’s streets would fill with vendors and shoppers, but as he was leaving, they were empty. Kingu would miss them. He looked wistfully at Uruk’s grand wall before crossing through it. He couldn’t return to the inside again.

When Kingu arrived on the beach, the sun was already high overhead. Overcome with exhaustion, he collapsed onto the coarse sand, then pulled his body into the water. He lay half in the water, half on the sand, gasping for each breath, not unlike a dying fish. The frigid waves crept up his legs but recoiled each time. Even the sea had rejected him. It was neither warm nor gentle as he remembered. He laughed bitterly. 

Finding comfort in neither sand nor sea, he watched the slow parade of clouds, outlining their shapes in his mind.

“Somehow I knew I would find you here.” A golden figure towered above Kingu. “A lot has changed from that time, hm?”

“You were looking for me?”

“When Siduri went to your house this morning, she discovered you were no longer there, so she, Shamhat and I went searching for you. You must be glad that I found you.”

_ Siduri, Shamhat, and Gil? _ Kingu nodded weakly.

“Should I carry you back again?” Gil’s gaze drifted away with a slight glow of embarrassment. “Although, even if I rescue you, I don’t think we could ever be even.”

“No,” Kingu choked out. “It’s too late.”

Gil nodded solemnly before sitting on the sand. He picked up Kingu’s hand and eased its trembling with his fingers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner.”

“I haven’t been here that long.” Kingu tried to laugh to lighten the mood. “Besides, you’re injured.” Kingu could still see thick layers of bandages wrapped around Gil’s waist.

“Those are nothing.” Gil dismissed Kingu’s concerns. “It’s thanks to your actions that they weren’t that serious. Oh, I hate being in your debt.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Don’t start revering me now! Don’t you have something petty and unreasonable to demand?”

Kingu had many unreasonable desires, but he couldn’t ask Gil about them. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

Gil’s eyes had the serious look which Kingu had admired countless times. “Thank you, Kingu. You have saved me so many times.”

Neither of them wanted to hear the end of that thought. “Perhaps I should have come up with something?” Kingu laughed.

“It’s not too late.” A lie.

“Well…” When Kingu searched his brain, he only found anxiety. “Actually, I have something to tell you. Will you listen?”

“That’s your request? For me to listen to you?” Gil’s attempts to alleviate Kingu’s nerves failed.

“Seriously and considerately?”

“Of course. I will hear anything you have to say.”

Kingu inhaled slowly. “Gil,” he hesitated. “I…” The words faltered in his chest.

Gil put a gentle finger to Kingu’s quivering lips. “If you don’t want to say it, you don’t have to. I already know.”

_ What could you possibly know? _

Gil’s lips curled into a smirk. He leaned in and tenderly kissed Kingu. His lips had a hint of wine, and they reddened Kingu’s cheeks and numbed his mind. If Kingu tasted them for too long, he would surely become intoxicated.

A tear slipped from Kingu’s closed eyes, but it was softly wiped away by Gilgamesh’s thumb, which caressed his face as it slid toward his ear.

Kingu could still feel the warm mingling of their breaths after they parted. Gil’s eyes had lost their sharpness, but Kingu was enchanted by their crimson depths. Gil whispered, “Any other requests?”

Kingu shook his head ever so slightly to avoid breaking eye contact.  _ Don’t leave _ .

Gil’s fingers traced light circles on Kingu’s skin, running through his hair. Their message lulled Kingu from a panic to peaceful near-sleep. Was it okay for him… to close… his… eyes…?

Kingu felt exceptionally light. If he let his mind slip for even a bit, he would lose unconsciousness forever. Anxious as he was, his heartbeat was almost non-existent. He desperately clutched Gil’s hand. There was a return squeeze. Gil was still there.

* * *

Kingu’s grip grew weaker with each squeeze. The sea was slowly taking him from Gilgamesh, dissolving his body. But Gilgamesh would not let go. He had refused to acknowledge the goddess Tiamat even after he nearly died, and he wouldn’t start now.

Of course, the sea would try to take back her child, but Kingu was an Uruk now. As Uruk’s king and as an individual, Gilgamesh could not lose him.

Kingu’s body had faded so only his hand and a few strands of hair remained in Gilgamesh’s hands. It was only a short matter of time before he was gone entirely. If Kingu could give up everything and save Uruk, why couldn’t Gilgamesh save him from a few waves?

The small, white bubbles, glittering in the sunlight, floated upon the waves where Kingu had just been. They flirted with the land before pulling away. Such pure beauty could never last. Their transience only made the memory more dazzling as they were scattered by the incoming waves.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are always welcome and appreciated!


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